


Be My Nightmare

by Keeroo



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Brain Surgery, Cat and Mouse, Child Murder, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drunk Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Reader, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Insanity, Masturbation, Mind Games, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Reader Insert is basically an OC, Reader-Insert, References to Addiction, Shooting, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Trauma, V is an artist, graphic murder, references to self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-11 12:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keeroo/pseuds/Keeroo
Summary: The brutal murderer V is the newest arrival at Mundus Psychiatric Hospital where you work with the most violent of criminals. Can you help him find peace, or will his machinations pull you into his dark web? Let the games begin.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InugamiMochi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InugamiMochi/gifts).

> Hello, my dear readers! Welcome to this new project. Couple things before we jump in. First, a HUGE thank you to InugamiMochi for sending me the prompt. If you enjoy the darkness here, you NEED to take a look at Madness Reigns King Here. 
> 
> Second, this work will not be like my others. It will be darker, twisted and with themes of violence and dubious consent throughout. V is a very different character here. 
> 
> Third, though I have done extensive research on certain mental conditions in an effort to write them accurately, I am not an expert. If you have one or more of the conditions covered in this fic and want to correct something, please feel free to do so. However, I may not change the fic to reflect your suggestion if I can't make it work within the story. For those of you who aren't experienced with mental disorders, please take this work with a grain of salt. 
> 
> And with that, I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What should have been another normal day at work becomes something else as the new patient arrives at Mundus Psychiatric Hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Welcome to this new project. Couple things before we jump in. First, a HUGE thank you to InugamiMochi for sending me the prompt. If you enjoy the darkness here, you NEED to take a look at Madness Reigns King Here. 
> 
> Second, this work will not be like my others. It will be darker, twisted and with themes of violence and dubious consent throughout. V is a very different character here. 
> 
> Third, though I have done extensive research on certain mental conditions in an effort to write them accurately, I am not an expert. If you have one or more of the conditions covered in this fic and want to correct something, please feel free to do so. However, I may not change the fic to reflect your suggestion if I can't make it work within the story. For those of you who aren't experienced with mental disorders, please take this work with a grain of salt. 
> 
> And with that, I hope you enjoy!

**\---Reader---**

“Shit, he’s got a knife!”

Five words you never wanted to hear while working in a psychiatric hospital.

They sent you straight into high alert, scanning the lobby and intake area for the threat. Only a few visiting family members and orderlies occupied the room. Still, because of the constrained space it took a moment to find the culprit. Your eyes widened when you spotted the slim figure at last.

A tattooed man with black hair, he brandished the blade before him with a gleeful smile, his green eyes lit with crazed mirth. He sliced at the person closest to him, leaving a line of dark red on her white sleeve.

_Fuck! This looks bad…_

Yet you didn’t intervene. Instead, you ducked lower behind the intake counter to hide, trying not to draw attention to yourself as you picked up the red phone and dialed the security office. Protocol dictated it, and despite your fascination with the potential new patient you knew better than to ignore the rules. While the line connected, you peeked over the counter to watch the chaos.

The man with the knife had his teeth bared as his green eyes swept the room, searching for something. The three orderlies present were standing between him and the visitors, hands held high in a non-threatening pose. You recognized Kevin and Rob and smirked. They were both experts in de-escalation; that’s why they worked in intake so often.

The third man looked scared, a new face you weren’t yet familiar with. He didn’t hide his fear at all, and the attacker easily picked up on his inexperience. The knife flashed toward him, aimed right for his heart. You held your breath, anticipation flooding your senses as both Kevin and Rob darted forward, each grappling one arm.

Kevin wrapped a meaty fist over the man’s bicep, his other hand applying pressure to his extended wrist as the blade grazed the third orderlies chest. He tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white and the black-haired stranger’s fingers opened against his will. The knife clattered to the floor and Kevin kicked it away as a nurse came running with a set of restraints.

_Over already._

A sigh of disappointment slipped through your lips. Contrary to popular belief, working in a mental institution was _incredibly_ boring. Routine and stability were crucial to patient recovery, and the monotony of it made you restless. Not that you _wanted_ people to get hurt, but a little break in the tedium was nice.

_“This is Aaron, what’s the issue?”_

“Oh! Uh, Kevin’s got a violent patient restrained in intake. Two minor injuries, but nothing serious,” you replied.

_“On my way.”_

The phone went dead and you set it back into the cradle, monitoring the tense situation as Kevin and Rob forced the stranger into the restraint system. The crazed man repeated the same words over and over as they tightened the straps.

** _“A land of sorrows and of tears where never a smile was seen!”_ **

You smiled. This guy would be interesting.

__________________

The second your replacement arrived, you headed for the director’s office. You held up your badge to Lenny with a smile and he waved as he buzzed you past the double gate, allowing you into the administrative wing. Within moments, you were knocking on Dr. Malphas’ door.

“Come in.”

You couldn’t hide your excitement as you entered your boss’s office, taking a seat on the comfortable armchair in front of his desk. Dr. Malphas was an odd fellow, elderly and kind. He was the one who hired you straight out of college, despite the lack of experience on your resume. He closed the navy file before him and gave you a grandfatherly smile, folding his hands over the desk to meet your gaze.

“I want the guy from this morning,” you blurted. He chuckled and removed his glasses, using the backside of his tie to clean them.

“I knew you would. He _does_ seem like he needs your special touch. How’s your case load?”

You hummed thoughtfully, reviewing the patients you were already working with.

“I could hand one or two to Dr. Mustafa, one of his just got discharged.”

He gave the lenses one last wipe and carefully placed his glasses back on his face. They made his eyes look bigger, buglike and you smirked. He knew what they did, and he _loved_ it.

“Make it two, I have a feeling this guy will take up a fair amount of your time. Once he’s stable, feel free to begin.”

You beamed and nodded, eagerly accepting the file he held out for you to peruse. The name on the tab made no sense, and you stared back at your supervisor quizzically.

“His name is V? That’s it?”

“That’s all the court provided.”

_Weird. _

You stood and inclined your head. “I’ll go get to work. Thanks, boss!”

Dr. Malphas chuckled again and waved you off as you hurried out the door, already scanning the file.

_Court ordered admission, patient murdered a family of three. Damn, the kid was only five…_

You barely acknowledged Lenny in your rush to get back to your office on the third floor. Over the last few years, you’d developed a reputation for your ability to help the very worst of patients, specializing in criminals with violent tendencies. They fascinated you, especially serial killers. If you used the textbook definition, this “V” didn’t fall into that category since all his known kills had occurred in a single evening.

_But I’d bet a month’s salary he’s got more skeletons in the closet. They always do._

You grinned; you couldn’t wait to get started.

__________________

It didn’t take long for you to choose two patients to transfer, and as you gathered the required files in your office, you heard approaching footsteps. Only an hour had passed since V’s arrival; it was probably the orderlies bringing him to his cell. You grabbed your badge and scurried out to watch.

They were easy to spot in the hallway through the glass of the security checkpoint. Two bulky men in blue scrubs dragging a third, much smaller man in white between them. Kevin’s annoyed grimace helped you recognize him, and Aaron was unmistakable due to his mountainous form. You waved at Ben and he buzzed you through with a shake of his head.

You stepped into the hallway and kept out of their way, content to listen to the man’s growled oaths.

“I’ll _destroy_ you for this. I will flay the flesh from your bones and make you watch, I’ll use your blood as _bath water!”_

“Sure you will, buddy,” Kevin replied.

V snarled like an animal, gnashing his teeth and writhing against the two men’s tight hold of him. He contorted until his eyes locked on yours, and he froze as if a cattle prod had hit him. You expected him to continue his tirade of threats, but he fell silent and tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brow in thought.

_Huh… interesting reaction._

You held his gaze unflinchingly and waited, curious to see what happened next. The corner of his lips twitched into a smirk and for the first time you noticed how damn _attractive _he was. It was hard to look past the madness in his expressions, but once you did it was impossible to ignore.

_What a waste._

You followed the three men without thought, your inquisitiveness too strong to resist. Kevin and Aaron dragged V’s newly compliant body into his cell, strapping his limbs down until further notice. It was standard procedure with a new high secure patient; people didn’t end up in your care unless they were a danger not just to themselves, but to society.

“Now, are you going to cooperate and take these or do we have to sedate you?” Aaron asked, holding out a paper cup with V’s first dose of Seroquel. You watched from the doorway as his eyes narrowed, considering his options.

_Please be smart, please be smart, please be smart…_

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he opened his mouth obediently to accept the medication.

_Yes! _

Kevin leaned forward to check his cheeks and smiled kindly when he found them empty. 

“Good man,” he said, then turned to you. “What’s up, doc? He one of yours?”

“As of today.”

“Well, good luck. Hope you can reach him,” Aaron answered. He gestured at Kevin and the two men departed. With V tied down under three levels of restraints, there was no need for them to stay and monitor him. You stepped closer, pulling out the chair from under the desk and plopping down to begin.

“All right… V… I’m Dr. Waras. I’m here to help you get better.”

You paused, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment of your words, but V kept his eyes glued to the pale ceiling overhead. You cleared your throat, but still he didn’t respond.

_What the hell? He was talking a few minutes ago._

After another moment of silence, you started to get worried. He hadn’t even blinked. You leaned forward, coming into his line of sight. You chewed the inside of your cheek at the emptiness of his expression.

“V? Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

His tattoos were extraordinary and you couldn’t help but glance at the intricate patterns on his arms. The dark lines looked tribal, like war paint in a way. You tilted your head and called his name again, with no result.

You leaned closer, bringing your mouth next to his ear. Even his head was strapped to the bed, the poor bastard…

“V? Hello?”

_He’s not dead, is he?_

You extended your hand and felt for a pulse, your fingertips pressing into his neck gently. There was a normal rhythm, nothing out of the ordinary. You moved your fingers to check his airflow, hovering under his nostrils as the telltale exhalation crossed your skin. He still hadn’t blinked and tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

_A catatonic episode. Pretty intense, from the looks of it.   
_

**\---V---**

The scent of blood was overwhelming, but all he saw was white. Where _was_ that delicious aroma coming from? He hoped it was fresh; the color became dull after only a few hours.

“V? Hello?”

Sensations filtered in one by one. Warm pressure on his neck. A thin cushion under him, something wrapped around his wrists and ankles. V struggled to gather his wits, his thinking sluggish and disorganized. The aroma grew stronger and he stifled a moan as the source revealed itself to him – a woman in a white coat, leaning over his prone body. Her fingers were held under his nose. 

_Irresistable._

V slipped his tongue past his teeth and between his lips, taking a delightful lick of your fingers with a pleased hum. You retreated with a grimace and pulled a napkin from your pocket to wipe away his saliva. He blinked, savoring the saltiness of your flesh.

_I should’ve bitten… damn._

The restraints limited his vision, but every flash of your slim fingers against the white fabric made him want another taste. You tucked away the napkin and opened a thin blue folder.

“R- right. I’m Dr. Waras. Do you know where you are?”

He smirked; he’d rattled you. V reveled in the sense of power it gave him to know only a momentary caress of his tongue had caused such a reaction. His nerves vibrated, anticipating all the fun he could have with you.

_What other reactions can I elicit?_

He wiggled his arms and legs, testing his range of motion. Only a few inches, far from the distance required. Damn. He’d have to remedy that, somehow.

“Can you speak?”

_Ah, I suppose I should play along for now._

“I can. What’s your name?”

You frowned. “I just told you, I’m Dr. Waras. Are you having trouble remembering?”

“I meant your _first_ name.”

You sighed, pursing your lips for a moment before answering. “If I tell you, will you answer my questions?”

V hummed, pretending to think while inside he celebrated his first victory. He hoped you’d prove amenable, but this was almost _too_ easy.

“I will,” he replied with a false smile.

“Y/N. Now, do you know where you are?”

_“Y/N,” _he purred. He liked the way it sounded, a delightful arrangement of letters. It echoed in his mind, becoming a mantra as he closed his eyes to bask in a plethora of imagined situations where he could say your name again.

You shifted your weight. He wondered if it was from discomfort or if you enjoyed hearing your name roll from his lips. He said it again, testing. A pulse of blood rushed down to his cock as he envisioned decorating your flesh with little cuts, thin lines of red trailing across your skin. He repeated your name again, letting a hint of his arousal color his voice.

You shifted your weight again. He wished his head was free, wished he could see if you were angling your body against the chair to ease the ache…

**I think she likes it!**

“Hush, Griffon!” he cried, angry at the interruption. _Just_ when he was getting to know you…

“Griffon? Who is Griffon?” you questioned him. 

“Now see what you’ve done? You ruined it! _Accursed_ demon!”

“Demon? V, tell me who you’re talking to.”

The coil of heat in his belly flickered away, extinguished by Griffon’s untimely words. V growled his frustration and closed his eyes, trying to recapture the images he’d conjured. But it was no use, he couldn’t shake his annoyance. He’d lost the precious moment.

“Hey, stay with me. Come on, V,” you said. A warm hand came to rest on his forearm; a gesture of reassurance.

He instinctively tried to turn his head to meet your eyes and growled a second time as he met resistance. Being restrained was infuriating. To limit his freedom, how _dare_ you! He would destroy you for this, no matter _how_ good you tasted.

“If you can calm down and focus, I can take the head strap off.”

He froze, surprised by the proposition. Perhaps you would prove more entertaining than he expected? He revised his strategy and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes. He held his body as still as he could, projecting calmness as convincingly as he was able. It did not come easily to him.

Regardless, you swallowed the bait and reached out to loosen the thick band of leather holding his skull in place. He waited until you pulled aside the straps to lie flat on either side of the mattress, then turned his head to face you fully. You smiled kindly.

_Those features would look even more lovely if I twisted them in fear._

“So. Do you know where you are?”

V rolled his eyes. Such mundane questions you asked, what did it matter if he knew his whereabouts? But he had to play the game, at least for now.

“Unless the judge changed his mind, I would assume this to be Mundus Psychiatric Hospital,” he replied.

“Yes. You’re currently in the high secure wing, but depending on your progress we may be able to get you to mid secure. I’m in charge of your treatment.”

He smirked. “Then I’ll see you regularly?”

You shifted your weight again, and this time he could see your motions. He licked his lips.

“Every day. Next question – do you remember what happened in the lobby when you arrived?”

The image of the knife flashing, its tip sinking into flesh and drawing blood sent him reeling. Such a beautiful sight, _why_ did the fools have to interrupt him? Such a pity. It was the first chance he’d had in months to create another masterpiece, only to be wrestled into submission against his will and drugged.

_They will pay._

**\---Reader---**

It was child’s play to catch the gleam of pleasure in V’s eyes, hear the way his breathing hitched at the reminder. Not only did he remember, he felt no shame or guilt. No, he _enjoyed _it. You shivered, a surge of adrenaline flooding your system as you eyed this incredibly dangerous man.

“I remember nothing,” he said.

_He’s lying. But why?_

“What would it take for you to release my legs? They’re growing stiff.”

You tapped your pen against your lips. With this type of patient, it may be wise to let him think he had control of the situation, put him at ease. Overconfident. Then, he might open up and give you the details you needed to treat him properly. It was a risk, it always was. Completely against protocol.

_But if it works…_

“Answer three questions and I’ll untie one leg. Another three, and I’ll do the other one.”

_Even if he lies, it’s still valuable information._

“Deal. What would you like to know, _Y/N?”_

You almost dropped your pen at the low rumble of your name over his lips. It truly was a waste, to see someone like this. Tied up. Caged. He could’ve chosen any other path, but here he was. You sighed, trying to focus. What _did _you want to know?

_Let’s start with an easy one._

“What’s your full, legal name? It can’t be just V.”

He chuckled, his mouth stretching over his teeth in amusement. “I truly couldn’t tell you.”

_Clever bastard. He knows I’ll have to waste more questions to get the full answer. Is it worth it?_

You pursed your lips, thinking. This stage of treatment was critical. It established the parameters for the duration of his time here, whether he would see you as an authority figure deserving his respect and trust, or if you’d be nothing more than a naïve fool in his eyes.

“Okay. Who is Griffon?”

His smile vanished. It seemed like you’d caught him off guard by your easy change of topic, like he’d expected you to pursue his name. You smirked and waited for his answer.

“Griffon is a demonic bird. He speaks to me occasionally.”

_Auditory hallucinations, got it. This might be the last time he answers, better make it a good one._

“Okay. Why did you kill that family?”

V bared his teeth and growled like an animal. His eyes flashed and for a moment you thought he wouldn’t answer. His hands clenched and he tugged at the restraints, but at last he spoke.

“They were _supposed _to be my masterpiece. That’s three.”

You shook your head. “And _that _wasn’t an answer.”

He sighed, grimacing briefly in irritation. When he opened his eyes again, he looked so different it stole your breath. The anger, the playfulness, the energy from before had disappeared. Only mournful resignation remained. You leaned forward, pen poised to write his response.

“I wish I remembered.”

_Huh. I think he’s telling the truth._

You sat back, surprised by the honest expression he still wore. It was clear he was intelligent, and liked to play games. When he licked your fingers, you first saw the gleam of humor tinting his green gaze. The memory sent another shiver up your spine and you rubbed your fingers together to remind yourself the wetness was gone. There was no _way_ he knew how sensitive your fingertips were, it _had_ to be a coincidence.

“That’s three,” V reminded you.

_Right. Here goes nothing._

You scooted closer and unhooked the cuff from the anchor, letting his leg have full range of motion. He groaned suggestively and stretched, overextending his knee until it popped. Lips pursed again, you retreated to allow him the room to lift his leg high and stretch his thigh muscles.

“Would you be so kind?”

You shook your head. No way in hell were you letting him dictate the situation.

“Not unless you answer an extra question.”

His leg trembled and he clicked his tongue, but nodded.

“Do you ever find it difficult to concentrate?”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion and you internally celebrated. Such an ambiguous question would challenge him to decide if a lie was necessary. He remained silent for a long moment, long enough that he lowered his leg to rest. You knew the second he decided and watched his pupils to see if they dilated.

“Never.”

_Lie._

Still, he never agreed to tell the truth, so you stepped closer to lift his leg into an assisted stretch. His eyes rolled back into his head and he whined, making a sound so lewd you dropped his calf in shock. You pursed your lips as he smirked at you tauntingly.

_All right, time to teach him a lesson._

You darted forward and clipped his leg back into place, grimly amused at his growl of frustration as you stepped back again and gathered your things.

“I think that’s enough for now. I’m sure we’ll make more progress tomorrow,” you said.

He laughed and winked at your departing from. “I’ll be counting the moments, _Y/N…_”

**\---V---**

Once you were gone, V set his mind on planning. He had to escape, that much was obvious. If he remained here to languish, his masterpiece would never be completed.

Unacceptable.

He tugged at his restraints with an irritated growl, testing their strength. The leather was durable and thick, but perhaps he could sabotage the buckles? Assuming he had a moment of freedom to do so… He’d need to be fast. A distraction would help, as well, but how?

He lifted his head as high as he could, straining to get a look at the rest of the small room. There wasn’t much to see. He deduced the existence of bars over the small window based on the pattern of shadows across the plain beige walls. As expected, considering his supposed _crimes_. Besides the cot, his only furniture consisted of a cheap wooden desk and the chair you had used during your visit.

**Not much to work with, pal. You’re gonna need help.**

“Yes, yes, I know,” he replied aloud, rolling his eyes in derision.

**How about that cute doctor? She seemed to like you.**

“Possible, though it would take a fair amount of time. I’d have to go slowly…”

He fell silent, recalling how cooperative you’d been earlier. There was definite potential there, but V wasn’t one to leave all his eggs in one basket, so to speak. Other allies must be found.

But how to turn you to his side? How to convince you he could be trusted?

_Ugh. I don’t have to exhibit docility, do I?_

**She wouldn’t believe it after the knife thing. **

“A valid point.”

So, he’d have to turn you. V truly believed everyone had the capacity to discover the truth that only he seemed to know. Perhaps you simply needed a guide to show you the way?

He smirked, his eyes glittering in wicked amusement. A rush of blood flooded his cock as he envisioned himself teaching you just how much pressure to use when slicing at flesh, the perfect grip for every blade. He licked his lips as he pictured the look of joy in your eyes at your first stroke, discovering the release for yourself. It would be magnificent, _ethereal_ to taste the blood of your shared victims on your lips. He would fuck you until you couldn’t speak in a pool of crimson, your bodies serving as paintbrushes against the canvas of the floor.

He hissed and tried to arch his hips, but the strap over his waist held tight. His cock strained against the rough white fabric of his pants and he shifted his weight, just enough to get a little friction against the head. Enough to imagine how you’d look, licking a mixture of white and red from his length. You’d be so beautiful with streaks of blood left wherever he touched you. True artistry.

_Gods,_ how he wanted to touch himself. This was such exquisite torture. He wondered if you knew the effect you had on him, if you might even be watching from somewhere as he writhed and moaned, his cock tenting just inches below the accursed strap.

**Calm yourself, fool. Do not allow your lust to destroy your plans.**

“Fuck _off, _Vergil!” he snarled to the cold, disembodied voice. The bastard only ever spoke up to insult him.

**Or to keep you from self-destructing.**

V growled. So many disruptions today! Sometimes being the only one they could talk to was immensely irritating. Once you were able to hear them too, perhaps he’d finally get some peace. For now, there was only one sure-fire way to get Vergil to leave him alone. He smirked and licked his lips.

“Jackpot.”

**…fine. Have it your way.**

He grinned gleefully, victorious. Yet the interruption had already done its damage; the tent was gone, his cock limp and lifeless once more. He clenched his jaw in frustration.

_Soon, I will have satisfaction. _

He tugged at the restraints again and sighed. This would become terribly boring without something to occupy his thoughts.

A long roar rattled through his mind. Shadow. She was the most helpful of the bunch, and he smiled at her wise counsel.

“Thank you, as always,” he said. Another, much shorter roar sounded and he focused his mind on the problem at hand.

How to show you his reality, the _true _reality. It would shock you if he wasn’t careful, to rush the process would spell disaster. Patience was a struggle, but he needed to try. Subtlety had a higher chance at success, and his masterpiece was too important to allow failure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another massive shout out to InugamiMochi for giving me this idea, you are a rockstar! I hope this lives up to your expectations :3
> 
> Fun fact - Waras means "sane" in Indonesian.
> 
> Round of applause for you lovely people reading this, leaving kudos and commenting. Without your support, I would never have attempted this. Again, feel free to comment with any suggestions for how to portray specific mental illnesses accurately, I love learning and this subject is important to me. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at https://keeroo92.tumblr.com/ My ask box is open and I'm more than happy to chat with you guys.
> 
> Next chapter - first official therapy session :D


	2. Of Charcoal and Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V has his first therapy session with Reader. But who is really in control?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, my wonderful readers! Apologies for the delay, this story takes more research than anything I've done before so it takes a little longer to write. 
> 
> This chapter is NSFW.
> 
> Enjoy!

**\---Reader---**

You spent the rest of the week with your other patients, but you couldn’t keep your thoughts away from V. He was an enigma, the kind of case you’d been waiting for. A killer, but with brains. Capable of planning, and trickery. He’d be a tough man to work with, a stark contrast to the boring tedium of the masses.

“Dr. Waras, are you listening?”

_Speaking of…_

You tapped your pen against your lips and met the eyes of your current patient, Ken Sinclair. Guilty of animal abuse but he blamed it on visions of the future. He also had a lovely tendency to believe every conspiracy theory known to man.

“Of course I am. Please, continue,” you replied.

He shifted his weight and stared at the floor. Evasion. You made a note.

“I… so the cat next door, he was going to start a revolution. I saw it.”

“What sort of revolution? How was the cat going to begin?”

Ken fidgeted, his fingers betraying his anxiety. Due to his enjoyment of conspiracies, the man was extremely slow to trust. You internally rolled your eyes.

“I’m truly curious. I have a cat myself, did you know that?”

A lie, but a harmless one. Ken smiled, his fingers relaxing at the reassuring tone of your voice. Child’s play.

“He was going to start with his owner, the guy worked for the CIA.”

You widened your eyes and made a note. It was possible the neighbor actually did work for the CIA, but most likely it was yet another delusion. Poor Ken had trouble telling the difference. He had potential, though. If he made enough progress he might someday get to go home.

But it was doubtful.

By the end of the session, you had heard enough quackery to last until next time. You waved to Ken as Aaron led him back to his room and checked your schedule to see which patient was next, even though you already knew. You’d been looking forward to this for days.

V.

After your first meeting with him, his file proved a fascinating read. An art student from a prestigious university, he’d suddenly dropped out last year and vanished. His family searched for months but found no trace of the gifted artist. His whereabouts between then and the murders were hazy at best, only unconfirmed rumors or hearsay.

And the murders themselves were truly obscene. Details were sketchy on how he chose the family, but the scene was thoroughly documented. Blood so deep the cops wore galoshes, a mixture of his victims and several cows. The walls were painted with the crimson fluid, the wet dribbles still trailing to the kick molding. He’d used a nailgun to affix lengths of ropy intestines to his artwork as a frame, spearing part of the child’s liver as a focal point.

The bodies themselves were arranged in a gruesome tableau. The mother and father were stripped naked, splayed out for all to see on the couch. He hadn’t bothered trying to disguise where his blades had left their marks, choosing instead to draw attention to the young child strung up above her parents on the chandelier. The child had died last, her blood dripping into the heartbroken faces of her parents as he carved her up.

He didn’t gag them. The neighbors heard the keening wails but by the time the police arrived, he was licking the gristle from his fingertips and humming a piece of classical music. He’d welcomed the officers, offering bags for them to vomit into even as the man with the strongest stomach cuffed him.

The case never even made it to trial. He pled guilty with a smile, and the judge was all too happy to ship him off to an asylum based off his lawyer’s recommendation.

And now here he was, being led into your office by Kevin with a lidded gaze and a suggestive smirk. The orderly affixed the cuffs to the wall with a length of nylon rope, making sure V couldn’t reach you if you stayed at the desk. The young man saluted you and took his leave, and you were alone with the crazed murderer.

“How lovely to see you again, _Y/N,”_ he purred. Even knowing his crimes, you couldn’t deny his voice held great allure. Again, you were struck by the waste of a life before you. He had so much potential, only to fall into madness.

“Hello again, V. How are you feeling today?”

You made it a point not to acknowledge the way he addressed you. To insist on him using your title would only show weakness, that his opinion of you held value. He could call you whatever he liked; you were the one in control here.

He smirked and pulled up his legs, sitting cross legged on the couch. “I’m well. Quite a treat to stretch my legs today. It’s almost a shame how close your office is.”

_He’s reminding me of when I stretched his leg. Trying to set me off my game._

You smiled and made a note.

“True, maybe Kevin can take you for a walk after we’re finished.”

Asserting your control, telling him you held his fate in your hands. What fun he was already; the mind games alone were worth the wait.

“That _would_ be nice.”

His eyes gleamed. He knew _exactly_ what you were trying to do. Damn.

“Let’s get started.”

V licked his lips and gazed at you, his meaning clear. “Do let’s.”

You continued without missing a beat. “Here at Mundus Psychiatric, we have a three-pronged system to rehabilitate violent offenders. First off is medication. Dr. Malphas has you on Seroquel, and he’ll be in charge of your prescriptions based on my notes. He’ll meet with you personally once a month.”

You paused to give him a chance to ask any questions, but he only stared at you. On to the next section, then.

“Next, you’ll meet with me on a daily basis to work through any trauma or psychological issues. My job is to help you reach a healthy state of mind and to do that I need you to work with me.”

You paused again, giving the man a meaningful look. He licked his lips.

_Right. On to the last one._

“The third approach involves creative catharsis. I imagine this will be of particular interest to you due to your background, but if you display signs of aggression or self-harm, this privilege will be revoked.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Art.”

His hands twitched and he inhaled sharply, his excitement clear. As you’d thought; _this_ would be the way to reach him. You couldn’t help but be curious what he would create, especially without human remains to use as materials. Watching him at work could grant you insights otherwise hidden from view, and you slid open the lower drawer of your desk to pull out supplies with excitement.

**\---V---**

The dull stub of charcoal was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in months. His mouth watered, his fingers twitching to outline the images in his mind. He could almost hear the scratching of the dark substance against paper. He couldn’t look away.

It occurred to him that this was a test, some menial attempt to gain new insights into his character. Yet he didn’t care. The urge was too strong and he didn’t hesitate as you arranged a sheet of paper on a clipboard and offered it to him with the nub of charcoal.

What to draw, that was the question. His first work in months, it had to be sublime. Something to celebrate the occasion.

**Draw _her_, idiot.**

He bit his lip to remain silent. It wouldn’t do to reveal Vergil to you, not yet. It was too early to introduce you to such thoughts. Still, he had a point.

**Nothing inappropriate, mind you. A portrait. No blood or tears.**

He sighed internally. How boring. The image of your face twisted in pain and pleasure, like Bernini’s Saint Teresa in Ecstasy was oh so tempting. He’d imagined it many times already, it would be lovely to bring the image to life.

**Don’t be a fool.**

He drew the first line. The shape of your face was simple, but how to arrange your features? What did your smile look like? Did your eyes crinkle?

His focused gaze shifted to meet yours. You were watching his every move, intent curiosity on every feature. Vergil had been right, you were paying far too much attention for him to indulge. Damn him.

“What’s her name?” you asked.

The truth was too risky, yet you’d have to be blind to not make the connection by the time he was finished. He had to avoid answering, then.

“Would you mind smiling for me? It’s been a long time since I saw happiness.”

You leaned back in your chair and made a note. He clenched his jaw, hating the reminder of the situation. How he craved the chance to connect without the framework of your profession. To do so was essential to your growth.

A warning growl sounded in his head, Shadow reminding him of his goals. Truly, she was the best of them all. He schooled his features into an expression of raw vulnerability, furrowing his brow and angling his head so the light reflected from his eyes. You tapped your pen against your lips and nodded.

Victory was sweet.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Let’s keep talking while you work, too.”

He nodded and added another line, glancing between the paper and your face. Though you did smile, it seemed false. Forced. It gave him what he needed to add lips, but to get the eyes right he needed to see you laugh.

“What shall we talk about?”

You hummed and he added the shadow cast by your nose.

“Let’s start with what happened between you leaving school and the murders.”

He smirked. Could you have given him a better opening? Doubtful.

“Oh, is _that_ all?” he replied, injecting his voice with all the sarcasm he could muster. You tried to hide it, but you were amused. He saw the glint of humor in your eyes as you fought to restrain a chuckle. Perfect, just what he needed. He began outlining your eyes.

“Unless you’d rather tell me more about Griffon.”

He hummed and pondered his choices. It was always an option to remain silent, but that would do nothing to further his goals. He chose the safer of the two subjects and tilted his head, comparing the sketch with reality. Sufficient, considering the circumstances.

“I spent a great deal of time wandering, observing humanity in action. Planning my masterpiece.”

You made a note. He added a few lines to your brows, darkening them to his liking.

“So you knew in advance what you were going to do?”

He smirked and ran a thumb over the brows to smudge them. Perfection. “Only vaguely.”

Another note. It was becoming distracting. He held the clipboard higher, blocking his line of sight to focus.

“Tell me more about your masterpiece.”

**Careful. **

He could speak on it for hours, but he needed to be cautious. How to frame his thoughts so they didn’t seem too outlandish? He wasn’t unaware of how far from the norm his reality was; far from it. But it wasn’t _his_ fault the world was blind.

“It was meant to be a statement on humanity’s focus on innocence and virtue, and how foolish it is. Naivete should not be praised, it should be excised. It is weakness to intentionally keep blinders on and block out the pain of reality.”

You chuckled. He’d never heard the sound before and closed his eyes to memorize it. It would sound all the more lovely if you were by his side, blade in hand.

“You have a point, though your methods seem extreme. Why not try something less drastic first?”

“The gentler the approach, the fewer people it reaches and the duller its impact. I had to be drastic to make my message clear.”

He shaded the strands of your hair. Such a beautiful color, it would be divine fanned across a pillow in the midst of passion.

“I think I understand. You had to be bold to be heard.”

His lips twisted into a smirk. You really did show great promise. He should reward you. Another morsel, just a taste of what he had to offer.

“Exactly. Think of all the great artists. They were great for many reasons but chief among them was nerve. Have you studied art history?”

You shook your head and remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate. He allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction – so far, he had played this perfectly.

“Write this down and do some research. Rubens’ Massacre of the Innocents. Rembrandt’s Blinding of Samson. Caravaggio’s Judith Beheading Holofernes. Titian’s Flaying of Marsyas. Art is full of examples of violence and the macabre. Several artists have even used human remains as subjects.”

He paused, letting you finish taking down his referrals. It was difficult to limit his choices to only the few, but there would be time to show you more. First, you must see his perspective. He added the final touches to the portrait of you and added a dark V to the bottom right corner with a smile.

“Why do you think that is? That some artists paint such darkness while others don’t.”

He scoffed. “Those whose art reflects traditional beauty are skilled, I cannot deny that. But they are limited. Only through pain and suffering do we grow, only through torment do we reach truth. They are distracted by worldly appeals and though their work is pleasing, it offers no deeper meaning. The purpose of art is to guide the viewer to a better understanding of reality. How can that happen if the viewer is subjected only to pleasantness?”

You pursed your lips. Had he gone too far? Perhaps an example would help you see. A contrast. He wiped the dust from his hands, leaving black stains on his plain linens.

“May I have another piece of paper?”

Within moments, his hand was flying across a fresh sheet. Powerful strokes left dark lines behind as he furiously sketched, using his own face so as not to alarm you. He added tear tracks and small drops of fluid oozing from thin lines. The eyes showed fear and rage, a tempest of emotion in black and white. A few careful smudges and the drawing was complete. He held out both to you and waited.

“These are incredible… You have true talent, V.”

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in awe at his meager efforts. He could do so much better. How would you react to a piece created with more intent, more thought behind it? Images of you flooded his mind, worshipful and obedient to his whims. He shifted his weight to ease the ache in his cock at the thought of sketching your lips covering his length, blood leaking from your mouth to drip on his thighs.

_Focus. Be patient._

He pulled at the nylon cord anchoring him to the wall, taking all the slack available to rest his hands in his lap and subtly rub himself. It sent him reeling to be able to touch himself at last. He bit his cheek to withhold a moan as his thumb caressed the ridge of his head, the fabric sticking to his slit from his arousal.

Your eyes lifted and he forced his hands to lie still. Such torture, to have relief so near and yet so far. He licked his lips.

“Do you see now? Do you understand?”

You sighed and set the drawings aside. He didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on the page featuring his own face twisted in agony. Something odd tinted your face and you cleared your throat before turning to face him once more. He shifted his hips again.

“I understand your perspective, though I’m not sure I agree with it. Art serves many purposes to many people. Who am I to judge what its true role is?”

**A safe answer. She begins to see but refuses to admit it.**

It was enough. For now. He leaned back and relaxed his posture, wondering what you would ask next. With the progress so far, perhaps he could be more cooperative with his answer.

“When did Griffon first speak to you?”

**\---Reader---**

His art was remarkable. The raw emotion in the charcoal astounded you and you struggled to refocus. Watching him work gave you a new appreciation for his looks, too. The focus and intensity of his eyes as he added line after line, the intimacy of the way he asked for a smile, the movements of his lithe fingers… it was beautiful to behold.

It was a testament to your training and professionalism that you didn’t react when he started fondling himself. He wasn’t the first patient to indulge sexual desires in your office, but he was by far the most obvious. You pursed your lips and adjusted your legs, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your belly. It made you feel unclean to have such a strong reaction and yet it refused to diminish.

_This man will be the end of me if I’m not careful._

So, you steered the conversation into safer waters, back to something that was less likely to arouse his passions. He clenched his jaw and his fingers twitched as if to rub his length again, and you hastily looked elsewhere as he answered.

“Early May, just under a year ago.”

You made a note. “Does Griffon speak to anyone else?”

He smirked and his eyes gleamed. It sent a tremor of anticipation through you to see the hunger in his gaze.

“Not yet.”

_Yet? That’s unusual._

You made a note just as a gentle tap sounded from the door. Kevin was back to take V to his room. The time had passed so quickly you hadn’t noticed. You mentally shook yourself and gave V a smile.

“Looks like we’re out of time for today.”

“May I make a request?”

You paused. From the way he still gripped the charcoal, you had a guess as to what he wanted. It wasn’t unreasonable to allow him to keep the nub and send him off with a few sheets of paper, but it was decidedly against protocol. Regardless, you had to hear him out.

“Of course.”

He held up the charcoal. “May I take this with me, and some paper? And left untied? It’s dreadfully boring to be stuck in that bed with nothing to do.”

Another gentle tap and the door opened. Kevin walked over with a smile, waiting for the go-ahead to release the artist. You sighed. If only it were up to you.

“I’ll talk to Dr. Malphas about it on your behalf. We’ll see,” you replied, reaching out to take the charcoal away. He didn’t fight you, but the sadness in his eyes almost stopped you in your tracks. There was one thing you could grant him. Hopefully it would bridge the gap.

“Kevin, take him for a lap around the building to stretch his legs. You won’t be difficult, will you V?”

He shook his head and smirked. Kevin shrugged and untied the nylon cord, leading V away. The moment the door closed, you let out a deep sigh, slumping in your chair.

As far as first sessions normally went, this had been a home run. You’d gained more information than you expected, seen a facet of the man you knew was integral to his recovery. Maintained the balance of power and given him a reward. You’d done your job.

So why did you feel so conflicted?

**\---V---**

The walk was a blessed gift and he savored every step. He also made it a point to note the security gates and location of the stairwell, creating a map in his mind for future use. As Kevin led him back toward his room, he requested a pit stop. His room didn’t even have a toilet, due to concerns of self-harm.

As Kevin retreated behind the transparent panel, giving him the barest semblance of privacy, he grinned. It was all too easy to conjure images to fuel his need and within a few pumps he was fully hard. He angled his body to hide his activity and let himself imagine it was your slim hand wrapped around him.

He closed his eyes and wondered how tight you were, whether you’d gasp as he sank inside you. The couch in your office was the perfect size, was it bolted to the floor or could he make it move? He bit his lip to keep from groaning, mind full of all the ways he’d decorate your flesh with bruises and bite marks. You’d be ethereal with a few tasteful splashes of blood and his cum leaking from your lips.

His hand quickened along with his panting as he thought about claiming you as his own, leaving this accursed place behind and finding somewhere to hone his craft and teach you all he knew. He would set you free and share his every creation with you. If you desired it, he’d use the bodies of his chosen to show you how he’d fuck you until you bled. His hands would stifle any cries so as not to spoil the mood as he held your sweet gaze and pounded into another. Would you touch yourself? Would you want a turn?

He couldn’t suppress his drawn out whine as he exploded. Hot ropes of white spewed from his tip as he quivered his release, hand coaxing every last drop into open air. His hips rolled forward, smacking against his palm in a poor approximation of his plans for you.

After a moment to catch his breath, he opened his eyes to judge his work. Evidence of his release coated the wall behind the toilet, crossing over the porcelain into the urinal. It was a shame he had to leave it behind, but he’d have other chances. He hummed and licked his fingers clean, another surge of lust pulsing inside him as he imagined your tongue on his flesh. Would you enjoy the salty flavor?

He had faith.

“Almost done?” Kevin called out. He’d forgotten the simpleton was watching.

“Almost.”

He relieved himself quickly, knowing he wouldn’t get another chance for a while. A hasty wash of his hands and he rejoined the orderly with a satisfied smile.

The man escorted him to his room in silence, hooking his wrists and ankles into the bed once more without meeting his eyes. It was easy to figure out why – he must have seen V’s gratuitous self-indulgence. The artist smirked as Kevin turned to leave, but he paused at the door.

“Next time you do that, can you keep the mess contained? I have to go clean it now.”

V bared his teeth in a grin. “Apologies.”

Kevin shuffled his feet. “I don’t care if you need to do it, just… you know.”

**Oh for heaven’s sake, have mercy on the fool.**

“Hush, Vergil! I’ll be more mindful next time.”

“Thanks,” Kevin replied, and finally left him in peace.

He replayed every frame of his session with you, analyzing your reactions. It was a promising start, but he still needed to tread carefully. He couldn’t afford to show his hand too early or all would be lost. Your curiosity and logic would be points in his favor, but you had a long way to go before you were his equal.

And Kevin… the man might turn out to be an ally. The dolt had limited usefulness, but he wasn’t so arrogant as to ignore possible assets. He had plenty to offer, just not intelligence.

Hours passed and his mind grew restless. It truly was infuriating to be restrained like this, with nothing to occupy his thoughts except his current predicament. He tugged at the leather periodically, but he lacked the strength to break free. When he saw you next he could bring it up again, but that was ages away. How to pass the time?

He shifted his weight and smirked. A few delicious ideas came to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, poor V! Boredom is the true enemy of sanity. He's gonna get a little more freedom soon, promise. In the meantime, enjoy picturing him all tied up and entertaining himself with smutty thoughts of you!
> 
> Fun fact - in this AU, V first heard Griffon and Co. the same day Vergil split himself in Canon. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, leaving kudos and dropping a comment! I've greatly enjoyed reactions to this story so far and I love hearing theories about what happens next. You guys are the best!
> 
> Next chapter - V gets a little more freedom and we meet a few more patients.


	3. “For he saw that life lived upon death!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V has an intense episode where he relives the night of his gruesome killing spree. This chapter is extremely graphic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So just a heads up, this chapter includes an extremely graphic murder scene, in which V murders a mother, father and five year old daughter. You have been warned.

You cracked your neck and sighed as you finished typing up your notes. The two sketches sat on your desk, waiting to be scanned into the computer. It made you squeamish to imagine Dr. Malphas knowing the artist had used you as a subject, but you weren’t sure if you dared to omit that detail. It went against everything you’d been taught.

Still… even to think it felt wrong. Was it even relevant to V’s treatment? He’d only used your face because you were available, hadn’t he?

You pursed your lips. It was too soon to imagine why the man did _anything, _let alone why he chose his muses. This shouldn’t be such an issue; it was obvious what was required of you. It didn’t matter how intimate if felt for him to draw you, how personal it was to see your face on that page.

You glanced at it again. He really was gifted. The smudged charcoal would’ve made your mother smile; hell, she would’ve _framed_ the damn thing.

_I can’t put that in the system… I just can’t. _

If anyone ever found out, you’d lose your job. Possibly be fined or lose your license. Omitting details… Not a light offense. But who would know? There weren’t any cameras in your office, so unless V blabbed there was no way anyone would find out. Even if he _did_ speak, the man was in an asylum. It would be your word versus his, and not a soul alive would take his over yours.

You slid open a drawer and pulled out an empty folder, hiding the sketch within. You’d take it home, just to lower the risk.

Minutes later, you sent in your summary and powered down the desktop with a tired smile. As interesting as it turned out to be, the week had left you drained. A glass of wine before bed sounded nice, a little reward for the madness. You grabbed your purse and carefully stowed the sketch inside, grateful you carried such a large bag as you stood to leave.

“Hey, Dr. Waras!” a familiar voice called from the doorway. Dr. Ishida.

You smiled and flicked off your desk lamp. She was an old friend, a colleague you occasionally grabbed drinks and compared notes with. Like you, she specialized in extreme cases. Unlike you, she hated it.

“Hey! How are you, Kotomi?”

She grinned as you joined her in the hallway. Her sleek ebony hair shimmered in the florescent lighting and it reminded you of V’s shiny locks.

“I’m good, how about you? I heard you got a pretty intense one,” she replied with a grimace.

You almost laughed. “Yeah, had my first session with him today.”

Her heels clicked on the linoleum as you headed for the security checkpoint. “And?”

Ben buzzed the two of you through and you shot him a smile, waving goodnight at him as you passed. “He seems interesting, should be a fun case.”

Kotomi made a face. “You have a weird sense of the word ‘fun’, my friend. Didn’t he attack someone when he got here?”

She hit the elevator button and you sighed. If she’d just wear flat shoes, the stairs wouldn’t be an issue. Personally, you hated waiting for the damn slow elevator, especially at the end of the workday.

“Yeah, he had a knife. Nobody was seriously hurt, though,” you replied. She shuddered and you found yourself wondering, not for the first time, how she ended up working here.

“Lucky. From what Kevin told me it could’ve been pretty bad!”

“I guess. What about you, have a good week?”

She grinned, always happy to talk about something other than your more violent patients. “Yeah, actually! I had a breakthrough with Miss Andrews, I think next week she might make some big strides!”

The elevator dinged its arrival and her chatter filled the air all the way to the ground floor. Rob buzzed you into the lobby and you took a deep breath of fresh air as you left the building. Kotomi was still rambling and you smirked. She was a good friend but sometimes got carried away. You wondered when she’d realize you were heading for your car, and her parking spot was in the opposite direction.

“Anyway, any fun plans this weekend?” she asked. You clicked your keys and opened the driver’s side door with a laugh.

“No, just catching up on some TV. Assuming I don’t get called in, of course.”

She cringed. Since you took most of the worst patients, it had been a long time since she’d been called in for an emergency with one of hers, but for you it happened regularly.

“Well, I’m back that way. I’ll see you Monday!”

You waved as she turned away, shaking your head at her antics and starting the car. The radio was in the middle of a familiar song and you hummed along with the chorus as you got into gear.

Then your phone rang.

You frowned and fished it from your purse, tapping the screen to accept the familiar call. “What’s the problem?”

_“Your new patient is having a fit, are you close?”_

“Yeah, I haven’t left the parking lot yet. How bad is it?”

Aaron never bothered you unless it was serious, but you liked to know what you were in for. You switched the car back off.

_“Hard to say for sure, he’s just shouting something and we can’t get close enough to sedate him.”_

“All right, I’ll be right up.”

You hung up and grinned. Whatever was going on sounded interesting. Within seconds, you were waving at Rob once more as he buzzed you back inside. The elevator was already at ground level so you indulged yourself, sparing your calves from three flights of stairs. The doors were barely open when you heard V’s shouting.

** _“For he saw that life lived upon death!”_ **

You raced to the security gate and didn’t even glance at Ben as he buzzed you into the patient’s quarters area. The artist repeated the same words over and over and as you reached the door to his room you heard a loud crash. Aaron was just inside, along with two other orderlies. They had V backed against the wall, his eyes wild and darting. He looked right through them, unseeing as he repeated the same phrase once again.

** _“For he saw that life lived upon death!”_ **

The three men stepped closer as one, trying to reach the incoherent man without incident. He didn’t react to their movement and they took another step. You watched with bated breath.

** _“For he saw that life lived upon death!”_ **

What the hell was he even talking about? His words had the ring of importance, why else would he repeat them? You pulled out your phone, keeping one eye on the tense situation as you typed his words into the search bar and hit enter.

_William Blake? What the fuck?_

You glanced back at the confrontation just in time to see the three men close in on the artist and drag him to his bed. He didn’t seem to be aware of what was happening, still shouting the same phrase as they strapped him back into the restraints. How had he even gotten loose in the first place? Had someone set him free?

** _“For he saw that life lived upon death!”_ **

Once the straps were nice and tight, the orderlies stepped back. Aaron waved you inside as the two others left, leaving the head of security to see if you needed him. He rubbed a palm over his face and sighed.

“Should I sedate him? He hasn’t hurt himself, but…”

You stepped closer to the artist, staring into his vacant eyes. Where _was_ he? What was he _seeing?_ Would he remember once he settled down again?

Doubtful.

_Fuck._

“I’ll stay with him and call if he needs sedation. He might say something useful,” you explained. Aaron nodded and took his leave, probably on his way out for the evening.

You pulled out the same seat as when you first met the poor soul before you and sat down to listen.

** _“For he saw that life lived upon death!”_ **

**\---V---**

The trill of the child’s laugh was what sealed her family’s fate. So sweet, so innocent and pure. He had to make them understand that such naivete was a crime. It was up to him to punish her foolishness.

He followed them to their ocean-colored home from the grocery store and waited, biding his time until the quaint building was silent in the night. It took hours and his legs cramped where he crouched hidden in the shrubs with his absurdly heavy duffel bag. A nice neighborhood, full of young families and retired couples. The park across the street featured a playset and several chess boards, a blend of the needs of the locals. He smirked – soon enough, none would dare venture out alone.

At last, the shadows fit his needs. Darkness hid his approach and his eyes gleamed as he picked the lock. A skill learned only last month, but that already led to untold delights. He hefted his duffel bag high and slipped inside, locking the door behind him.

He prowled up the stairs, careful to keep his steps light and balanced. It wouldn’t do to reveal himself yet. Photos lined the ascent, smile filled snapshots of the young family arranged in a pleasing pattern. He resisted the temptation to rip them off the yellow plaster.

The first door led to a linen closet and he closed it with a quiet huff. The next, a bathroom stuffed with childish toys and soaps. He didn’t bother looking for long. He had to be close now, only three doors remained.

He grinned as the third door revealed a king-sized bed with two occupants – the parents. The father snored, his arms resting over his wife’s waist in a comforting embrace. Her face was relaxed and peaceful, not yet aware of the horrors about to begin. His fingers twitched in excitement and he backed away to find the child. Nothing else would ensure their cooperation.

He sneered in derision as he opened the child’s door. Her bedroom had a nightlight, a feeble attempt to keep the monsters of the night at bay. Pink and purple lines covered the walls, posters of unicorns and assorted foolishness breaking the pattern here and there. Dolls and a child-sized kitchen playset dominated the floor, stuffed animals on the shelf mixed with slim books.

But the bed was empty. Not good.

He stepped into the room and listened. If she was there, her youthful mind would undoubtedly be unable to keep her fear silent. Children were terrible at hiding, especially when it mattered most. A low gasp rewarded him as he stalked to the center of the room – she was hiding in the closet.

The door opened with barely a touch to reveal a tiny form huddled in the shadows. Her arms were crossed over a teddy, legs trembling in fright as her wet eyes met his. A filthy dark spot spread between her legs as he crouched to her level with a threatening smirk, and she squeaked as he reached out to pat her head.

“It’s alright, little one. Shall we go wake your parents?”

Her terror was delicious. A shadow of his past self screamed at him to stop, but it was too faint and weak to matter. Slim fingers wrapped around her narrow biceps and picked up her light body, bringing her to rest in his deceptively lean arms. Her shaking chest was a dark thrill as he carried her to her parents’ room. They were just as he’d left them, oblivious to their impending doom.

“Call to them, darling,” he whispered to the child. She shook her head. Stubborn little minx.

He pinched her, hard. Her tiny mouth opened in a pained wail, pained tears spilling down her cheeks. If only she knew what was to come…

“Becca?” the mother called sleepily. She rose with a startled gasp, hand reaching out to shake her husband awake as she saw the threat. He woke with an annoyed groan, reluctant to open his eyes despite her insistent prodding.

“What the hell, Amy?” he murmured.

The mother, Amy, didn’t speak. She only continued her poking with wide eyes locked on the dark figure holding her child at the foot of the bed. He could almost taste her panic, hear the rapid beating of her heart and he licked his lips. At last, the father sat up with a huff of resignation.

“Ian…” the woman said, and finally the father saw what was so pressing.

“Fuck!” he cried.

V shifted the child in his arms and drew the first of his many blades from his pocket, catching moonlight on the gleaming metal as he brought it to her neck. Both of her parents gasped and lurched forward, desperate to stop his motion. He tutted and they froze.

“P- please… don’t hurt her! I’ll show you the safe, whatever you want!”

He chuckled at the man’s pleading and pressed the metal against the girl’s neck, barely enough to draw blood.

“Follow me,” was all he said, and turned to leave.

The parents followed him downstairs, as he knew they would. They sat on the couch obediently and held perfectly still as he tied up the young girl. He did no further damage, not yet. This had to be done right, of he’d have to do it all again.

**Tie the parents, too, fool. **

“Obviously, Vergil! I’m not an imbecile…”

They didn’t resist, meekly letting him rope their wrists and ankles together as if their cooperation could save their child. Once all three were immobile, he retrieved the dozens of mason jars full of cows blood from his bag, setting them on the coffee table for the family to see.

“W- what do you want?” the father demanded. V smirked. Should he tell them?

He pulled out his brushes, laying them beside the jars with reverence. Horsehair and enamel, the same ones he’d used all those months ago to create such mediocrity at school. What a waste of time…

“If you stay quiet, the child will live,” he said. A lie, but it wouldn’t do to be interrupted too early. The man and woman nodded. Idiots.

With a length of rope, he hefted the girl above their heads to dangle from the chandelier. She was surprisingly silent, only a few subdued whimpers marking her dread. The couple beneath her didn’t look away for an instant, as if their gaze alone could reassure the terrified child. 

The image of his masterpiece danced through his mind and he ripped the pajamas away from the man and woman with a gleeful smile. They jumped but were wise enough not to scream. He tilted his head to assess them, judging where his eventual marks would lie with a thoughtful frown. The woman’s stretch marks and sagging breasts were as he expected, the man’s pot belly and hairy chest a compliment of mundanity. Such an ordinary family; he would elevate them into greatness through his art.

“Remember, not a sound…” he reminded them. Both heads nodded and he got to work, humming a classical tune.

The first ten jars of blood went on the floor, creating a viscous puddle around his feet and staining the air with the scent of copper. It was fortunate he’d chosen a family with a split-level home, or it wouldn’t have created such a perfect lake. How lucky. Fate must approve of his plans.

He set aside the painting adorning the wall he’d chosen, leaving the bottom few inches to be coated in the red fluid disturbed by his every move. Another jar in hand, he selected the flat size 20 paintbrush and dipped it in the contained fluid. This was the best part, the moment before the canvas accepted his first offering and showed his genius to the world. He took a deep breath and indulged the rush of pleasure at what he was about to do.

The first stroke was like being inside a woman, a heady rush of wondrous beauty and divine need that consumed his senses. Nothing mattered but the next line, the next detail to be added. He lost all sense of time as he painted, creating a unique pattern of scarlet on the plain wall using each brush in turn.

The last jar was depleted before he realized how much blood he’d used. More was required, and the piece desperately needed a frame. He turned to the family with a devilish smirk. Their time was almost up.

**You need to be fast.**

He rolled his eyes. Truly, Vergil was the master of the obvious tonight. The empty jar and stained brushes dropped to the floor and he drew his blade, stepping closer to the parents and reveling in the repulsed horror in their eyes. Who would go first?

**Make em choose, Van Gogh.**

“How brilliant, thank you Griffon.”

He pointed the cruel edge at the mother and father in turn, letting them see just how sharp it was before he addressed them. The mother was shivering, goosebumps covering her flesh. From fear or cold, he couldn’t say. It didn’t matter.

“Choose,” he stated simply. They blinked and shared a glance of confusion and he sighed. “Choose who dies.”

The child squirmed and whimpered above as the parents froze. They didn’t speak and he grew impatient. What absurdity.

“Choose or I start with _her,” _he threatened, pointing at the child with his blade. Instantly the father met his emerald eyes.

“Me! Leave Becca alone,” he said. V smiled. What a fool.

The mother sniffled and tears streamed down her face, but she lacked the courage to protest.

“Very well. Say goodbye,” V said. He would allow them ten seconds, no more.

The man swallowed and met his wife’s agonized eyes. “I love you, Amy. So much…”

She hiccupped and nodded, biting her lip to restrain a wail. It was clear she wanted to say it back, but again, she lacked the courage. The man accepted her frailty with a disappointed gleam and turned his eyes to his daughter.

“Becca, close your eyes. Don’t look, not even for a second. I love you.”

The child nodded and clenched her eyes, so like her mother in her inability to speak. V almost pitied the man, facing death without the reassurance of those he loved so dearly. Not that it mattered in the end.

Satisfied, the father brought his leaking eyes to meet V’s and nodded. He was ready. Not that the artist needed permission…

V twirled his blade and stepped closer, the blood sloshing around his feet as he approached. The woman looked away, unable to watch. What a coward.

“Don’t scream…” V whispered and brought the blade home with a surge of adrenaline.

The man bit his lip, his eyes glimmering in pure agony as he plunged all four inches of steel into his belly. A muffled grunt slipped free and tears left rivers down his face as V started sawing at the flabby flesh. Fresh gore spilled forth, drenching the couch and joining the cow’s blood on the floor. The unique sound of carving meat split the air and the wife sobbed, still unable to look but knowing what was happening nonetheless. Drops splattered on V’s scalp; the child’s tears.

He had to admit, the man had courage. Though he let an occasional groan through, he obeyed the order for silence even as his life slowly drained away. The slash reached across his stomach and through the gap, pink organs and yellow fatty tissue leaked crimson. A flash of white bone hid bashfully behind the initial gristle. It was _beautiful_.

His hand withdrew, setting the blade aside so he could pull the ropy lengths out with both hands. Supposedly, there should be several feet of the stuff. Plenty for his purposes. Steam rose from the gaping wound and his hands tingled at the heat as he brought the entrails forth. The texture was delightful, bumpy yet slick and firm. He smirked and reached for his blade, sawing until he held what he needed away from the man’s dying body. The echo of his panting gasps was glorious.

V turned away and pulled out the nail gun from his duffel bag. A few quick thuds and the man’s entrails made a delightful frame for his work. Yet it wasn’t quite complete.

He returned to the family and slashed at the man’s torso, ripping open his sternum. He had to punch at his rib cage until the bones shattered and the man coughed up thick blood as he sculpted his malleable form into the perfect complement for the wall nearby. The artist held one of the empty jars to catch what blood he could, but the light in his eyes was fading fast; _too_ fast. He set aside the half-full jar and gripped his knife.

The blade crossed over his arms and legs, dancing a pattern that must be completed before the flow of blood halted entirely. Truthfully, he probably should have started with this.

He’d do better with the woman.

As the man breathed his last, V stepped back to admire his work. Jagged marks decorated his flesh, a tapestry of lines dripping red. The chasm of his belly was a sight to behold, though the smell was nauseating. At some point, he must have pierced his stomach. Vile.

Shards of ribs poked through his upper chest, a cavity where V had forced his way through. His heart pounded in joy at the sight, even better than his imaginings. He turned to the woman as the man’s bowels released in a cloud of foul perfume, wrinkling his nose.

Her eyes were still shut tight, her face angled away from her husband as if by denial alone she could bring him back. She was shaking, her tears run dry. She might go into shock if he didn’t hurry. He used the husband’s blood to finish the last section of blank wall and returned to the wife.

“Amy, was it?” the artist asked. Her petrified eyes flew wide, showing her terror-dilated pupils as she gazed at her husband’s blood and gristle splattering his body. She whimpered.

“Amy. You’re doing _so_ well.”

Her eyes glittered in hatred. He didn’t care.

The fluids around his feet slapped against his calves as he leaned toward her. He’d learned his lesson from the man. “Don’t scream.”

His blade was lightning, flashing against her skin so quickly he barely felt the resistance as he sliced. She whined but managed not to scream. Truly, the things people did for their children amazed him. The pain was obvious in her dull eyes, though she still resolutely kept herself from seeing her husband’s still steaming corpse beside her. Admirable, though pointless.

The artist was panting by the time he was satisfied. Her body matched her spouse, save for the deep wounds that killed him. Perfectly prepared. It was time.

He stood and approached the child. Amy’s eyes widened and she thrashed, realizing far too late that her silence had bought nothing. She begged and pleaded, pathetic whispers offering everything she could think of in exchange for her child’s life. As if worldly possessions or sex mattered to him…

It wasn’t until he rested the bloody blade on the child’s gasping throat that the woman started wailing. He moved slowly, drawing out the moment as long as he dared. The child was too petrified to even scream as the metal bit through the corded muscles of her neck to rip open her windpipe, dragging across her youthful skin to pierce her jugular for good measure.

Her gurgling was barely audible over the mothers keening. The sound reminded him to hurry and he didn’t hesitate, plunging the blade into the girl’s belly and splitting her open just like her father. Hot blood cascaded down like a waterfall, coating her screaming mother and V alike. He brought the blade to his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he dug through her small body to find what he needed. There.

He tore it out and the child jerked, the trauma too much for her body to handle. It didn’t matter and he hurried back to the nail gun, spearing the liver in the ideal counterpoint to his artistry.

Almost perfect. He turned back to the mother, her incessant blubbering reminding him of what he still needed to do. She cursed at him as he came closer, damning his soul as if it wasn’t already beyond saving. He almost laughed, but there was no time. No, it was all he could do to thrust the tip of his knife straight into her broken heart and twist.

Ribs were _truly_ the worst. The blade broke and he rolled his eyes, about to draw another but the damage was done. Her shouted curses faded into silence, only the dripping of her daughter’s blood breaking the quiet of the night. He hummed in satisfaction, pleased at his work.

Red light spilled through the lass of the front door, illuminating him as a siren wailed almost as insistently as the now-dead mother had. Damn. He thought he might have a few more moments before they arrived…

**Now for the final touch…**

The artist grinned as the door exploded inward, bringing his saturated fingers to his lips to lick at the crimson and humming as he found chunks of meat in his fingernails. It didn’t particularly appeal to him, but the look on the cops faces as they saw him was priceless. He couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting as they drew closer, guns drawn.

“There’s bags over there, if you need to vomit, gentlemen. I won’t resist, take your time,” he informed them with a wry smirk. Indeed, the first three officers lost their dinners at the smell and sight that greeted them.

The fourth merely gagged, keeping most of his composure as he stepped forward with handcuffs at the ready. V turned around to present his wrists and took one last look at his work with a grin.

His mirth vanished as he spotted his error. A void where there should have been lovely streaks of red. His masterpiece was ruined, incomplete and unfinished. Shock and dismay flooded his mind as the cuffs clicked home.

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say…”

**\---Reader---**

For over an hour, V lied completely still on the cot, spread eagled by the restraints. You wondered if he’d ever return to his former self, but finally his eyes blinked and he groaned; the first sound he’d made in half an hour. You leaned forward, intent to hear whatever he said next as he returned to coherence. His fingers stretched and he sighed.

“What happened, V?”

He didn’t respond, instead closing his eyes and clenching his hands back into fists. You waited, sure he’d say or do something interesting if only you stayed patient.

“I don’t know.”

You pursed your lips. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

His brows furrowed in concentration. It startled you to see such an intelligent man have to ponder such a simple question. Mental illness was no joke.

“Kevin left me alone… I was thinking, and now I’m still in bed but you’re here and I have a terrible headache.”

You stood and leaned into his field of view, meeting his eyes and assessing his status. Pupils looked back to normal, no gleam of confusion beyond the norm to be seen. He obviously recognized you. You released the strap holding his skull in place and sat back.

“My thanks.”

You hummed. It was best to let him get his bearings before digging in too deep, so you waited. Whatever he’d just experienced was intense and his mind likely needed a moment to gather itself again. The minutes ticked by in silence and you started to wonder if you were wasting your time when he spoke at last, his voice a croak.

“What time is it? Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“I was about to leave when Aaron called me. It’s about ten now.”

He grimaced. What was going on? It seemed out of character for him to be aware of where you ought to be. Until now, he struck you as selfish and too consumed by his own struggle to notice, let alone _care_ if he inconvenienced those around him. Was it simply an after effect of his episode?

“My apologies,” he murmured. “I do hope you didn’t have to cancel any plans.”

You crossed your legs. Was he trying to manipulate you, or was this closer to the man behind the madness? Was this who he was before everything went wrong? If it was, you didn’t want to make him feel guilty or ashamed. He needed to feel safe talking to you for you to help him.

“No, nothing like that,” you said carefully.

He didn’t react. Another long few minutes passed in silence. You didn’t press him. Not yet, at least. To keep your mind busy, you focused on the way the shadows played on the plain walls every time a breeze rustled the tree outside. A dance, almost.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked eventually.

“You recited William Blake, the same line over and over. That’s all I know; I didn’t see the whole thing.”

The artist turned to face you, his intense green eyes glinting in the low light. “What line?”

** _“For he saw that life lived upon death.”_ **

His eyes closed. “The Book of Urizen.”

You wished you had his chart. He was giving you so much new information, what if you forgot something important? You had a pretty good memory, but even the smallest detail could prove crucial.

You almost smacked yourself in the face for your stupidity; you could record the whole exchange on your phone and transcribe it later. If only you’d thought of it sooner!

“Does it have any significance to you?” you asked, reaching for your purse and rummaging around.

“Not to _me_, no.”

There it was. Enough battery to last a while, too. You tapped the screen a few times until it started recording and held it in your lap. V’s eyes stayed fixed on you the whole time.

“Do you mind? I don’t have my notes.”

His jaw clenched but he nodded. What else could he do? Hopefully he’d still answer the same way.

“Not significant to _you_? Then who?”

He sighed. His lips twitched, the first echo of his familiar smirk crossing his features. If this odd honesty was an after effect, it was fading. Fast.

“To… another. One who is less amenable to your questions.”

“Griffon?”

He shook his head.

_So, he hears others, too? Interesting._

“Vergil. I’ll say no more for now.”

You wanted to insist, but the sardonic gleam in his eye showed that he was back to his normal self. It would be a waste of energy. It felt like you gained very little from the exchange, but you wouldn’t know until you had time to process it. Who knows how much he just let slip?

You needed to get to your office.

“In that case, I’ll let you get some rest. Goodnight, V.”

You switched off the recorder, stood and headed for the door.

“Farewell, _Y/N…” _

You almost tripped at the purr of his voice. He was _definitely _back to his normal self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, V's got some issues... Next chapter will have the previously promised other patients, this just had to happen first. 
> 
> Thanks as always, for reading, leaving kudos and commenting! I live you all and I appreciate you taking the time to read my work so damn much :D


	4. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone!!! I am so, so sorry this took so dang long. I wanted this chapter to cover so much and yet it feels like nothing happens at all, a tough one to nail down. Anyway! Hope you enjoy!

**\---Reader---**

The rest of your weekend passed uneventfully. Once V was stable, he didn’t have any further issues and you were able to catch up on tedious housework. You kept rehashing his words in your mind, dissecting every possible meaning until you could barely see straight.

After so many years of boredom, it was a delight to have the murderous artist in your care. Staying engaged had always been a struggle for you, even as a child. Most situations and people simply didn’t hold your interest. It wasn’t always easy to hide, but you managed most of the time.

You knew from experience what it cost if you failed.

_Don’t think about that. There’s no point._

You sighed and set down your bag, reaching over to power up the CPU on your desk. Time to get to work. It was Monday, so your first patient would be Kelly Williams.

A classic case of bipolar disorder, the poor woman had been stuck in a major depressive episode for three months. She was so predictable you probably could have written up your notes for the session before she even arrived, but you followed protocol and checked your email as you waited for Kevin to deliver her anyway.

You minimized the browser as she shuffled in, eyes downcast and limp hair hiding her frown. You pursed your lips as she settled on the couch with a morose sigh. Kevin gave you a nod and left, clicking the door closed behind him.

“Hello, Kelly. How are you feeling today?” you began.

_I’d bet my next paycheck I know her answer._

Her sad grey eyes lifted to meet yours. “Hanging in there.”

_Yep. This is going to be a long hour._

You covered all the same topics, reviewing her trauma and possible causes for her illness. Diligent notes filled your notepad, but the words didn’t stick in your mind. It might be worth shifting Kelly to another doctor, considering how little you cared about her treatment. Dr. Malphas wouldn’t be happy, but he’d understand. You only wanted to make sure she was receiving the care she needed, right?

A soft knock interrupted your musings as Kevin returned. You said your goodbyes and promised your patient some menial reward, nothing important but something that would be meaningful to her.

The moment the door closed, you released a deep sigh. Honestly, there were only two or three patients here that interested you. A man with detailed visions of the future that occasionally came true, a woman who spoke a language of her own creation, and your favorite murderous artist. The rest you could deal with in your sleep.

_On that note, who’s next?_

Jacob Miller. The infamous serial killer who targeted women that resembled his mother. How utterly mundane.

It didn’t surprise you to realize how little the well-known madman interested you. His spree of kills thrilled and horrified the state of Utah for months until he was caught, all from a scrap of fiber he’d missed when disposing of one of his victims.

But his profile was quite basic. A broken home, absentee father and disciplinarian mother. Run of the mill patterns of animal abuse and rejection from potential sexual partners, the same fuel that brought about the likes of numerous big names. There was nothing new or unique about him.

As Kevin brought Jacob in, you tried not to let your eyes glaze over in disinterest.

“Good morning, Jacob.”

“Hello, Dr. Waras. How was your weekend?” the twisted man replied.

You pursed your lips. His manners belied a twisted core. “Nothing special, but we’re here to talk about you.”

His lips twisted into a dark grin. The man was an arrogant prick, always happy to talk about himself. Sometimes you wondered how he managed to avoid death row, but it wasn’t your problem.

“What do you want to know, Doctor?”

_About you? Nothing._

“Let’s talk about your childhood a bit more,” you said instead.

**\---V---**

The ceiling truly was a monstrosity. He’d been staring at it for hours, trying to pinpoint exactly what about its beige visage disturbed him so much, and he thought he finally had it figured out.

It was the bumps.

Little dapplings of the plaster, random and unintentional. As if whomever built the room had no idea patients would spend almost all their waking hours staring at their work. A few sections resembled faces or vague outlines of familiar objects, but the majority was an expanse of rough mediocrity.

He wanted to splash blood across it in sweeping arcs of color, break the horrible monotony with crimson streaks of life.

At this point, he’d settle for sidewalk chalk.

**Someone’s coming.**

The artist tuned to the hallway and sure enough, the familiar scuffle of Kevin’s feet approached. It must be time for his meeting with you and he smirked. What perfect timing.

**Remember the plan.**

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware,” he replied to the insistent tone rattling in his skull.

He arranged his features in a neutral expression, feigning indifference as the heavy door creaked open. Kevin’s signature shuffle came closer and the strap at his left arm loosened.

“Time for therapy,” the orderly informed him.

He resisted the urge to strangle the bumbling idiot as his arm regained its freedom. “Wonderful.”

Moments later, the artist stood beside Kevin rubbing his wrists and cracking his neck. Someday he would tear the man apart for stealing his autonomy, but not today. Today, he needed to gain an ally.

“So… Kevin. How did you end up here?”

Watery brown eyes blinked at him in confusion. The artist’s fingers twitched.

**Don’t do it…**

He clenched his hands. Kevin’s day would come and what a _delight_ it would be…

“I… uh… I transferred from the hospital a few years back.”

V hummed and held his hands forward for the damned cuffs. They clicked into place as he replied, “Fascinating. Do you enjoy the work?”

Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s all right, I guess. Gets weird now and then.”

He followed Kevin into the hallway, white soles squeaking on the linoleum. Nine doors identical to his own dotted the walls, useful information for later. Clever emerald eyes paid special attention to where the guard’s hand went to buzz them through to the offices.

“You’ll have to tell me some of your more interesting stories sometime,” he replied with a convincing twist of his lips. Child’s play.

Kevin grunted and gestured forward, inviting V to lead the way. “We’ll see.”

The thick door to your office already stood open, welcoming him in like an honored guest. He smirked as you nodded at Kevin and dutifully cooperated as the man latched him to the wall. You looked lovely, as you always did. Pen tucked behind your ear, a hint of excitement in your eyes.

“Thanks, Kevin. See you in an hour,” you said, dismissing the man.

_And then there were two…_

**Stay focused. You’ll need your wits for what’s to come.**

You offered him a smile as the door clicked shut. He mirrored it with ease.

“So, V. How are you feeling after last week? I haven’t seen you since your episode.”

He hummed and leaned back, settling his weight onto the couch. It was impossible _not_ to indulge his aching body in the soft cushions after the maddening position he’d been stuck in all day.

“Truthfully, I’m bored. One can only stare at the same patch of ceiling for so long before it grows tedious.”

You tapped your pen against pursed lips. How lovely you’d look in red…

**Focus.**

“I can definitely understand that. I may be able to help, if you’re interested,” you replied.

There was no hiding the curiosity in his eyes, nor did he bother trying. You were too smart for that. “Do tell.”

“I can give you an assessment, and if it goes well you might be cleared to be left unrestrained. All you have to do is answer a few questions and be honest.”

He smirked. How adorable. “I’m ready when you are.”

You picked up a clipboard and read the first question aloud. “You find a lost young boy one day, and he appears to have stolen property. Would you A, hug and reassure him; B, take the property by force and leave him there as punishment; C, pick his pocket and leave him to his fate; or D, lead him home and call the authorities?”

He almost laughed. The entire basis of the question was absurd; what action he took depended on what the stolen property was. Why bother taking the item if it wasn’t something that appealed to him? Not to mention the lack of a ‘keep walking’ option.

“A,” he said. You made a note and continued.

None of the following questions were any better, all based on faulty logic or lacking the detail needed to truly make a decision. He chose his answers based on what he imagined his mother would do, using her kindness and empathy as a model for normal behavior. With each response, you marked your sheet and nodded approvingly.

“Okay, last question. Your house is on fire. What do you save on your way out? A, your little brother; B, your prized collection of baseball cards; C, whatever clothing you can carry; or D, the family photo album? Assume that anything not chosen is destroyed.”

_For heaven’s sakes, only an imbecile would fail this._

“A, of course.”

You made a final mark and your brows furrowed as you tallied his answers. He occupied himself with images of you with a blade to Kevin’s flabby throat, grinning as you slashed it open. Blood would stain every inch of your clothing; never would you look so beautiful.

“Interesting… According to this, you shouldn’t even _be_ here, let alone in high secure,” you began. Suspicion bloomed in your gaze as you met his eyes. “You weren’t being truthful, were you?”

**No shit, Sherlock! **

He gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at Griffon, searching for the right words. How had he missed this, how could he be so foolish as to expect you to believe a good result?

**Take it again. As many times as it takes.**

He had to take it another three times before you surrendered with a deep sigh. Not once did his answers change.

“I’ll have to clear it with Dr. Malphas, but I can’t justify stopping you.”

He smirked. Victory was sweet, indeed. Even this tiny increase to his freedom would do wonders for his plans, not to mention he’d no longer need to bother Kevin for a bathroom trip to indulge himself. It didn’t matter that there was a camera in his room, watching his every move. He knew where it was, it would be easy enough to hide his activities from its view.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said. A tiny smile graced your lips at his gratitude. Progress.

“Just doing my job. Now, let’s get back on track. Do you remember anything from last week?”

He brought his legs onto the couch, drawing his knees to his chin as was his preference. “Fragments.”

Ink marked his answer on your notepad and he almost growled in jealousy. His fingers itched to create, to design and defile. It took all his will power to remain seated and keep his hands from reaching for the pen. The sketches last week had left him needy and craving more time to hone his craft, the pull growing stronger with every reminder.

“Would you care to elaborate?” you asked.

He didn’t bother to consider the ramifications as he opened his mouth. The need was too strong. “I’ll tell you about it if you give me a pen and paper.”

**You _idiot!_ Now you appear weak, willing to succumb to her will if she only throws you a treat. What are you, a _dog?!_**

He flinched. Vergil had a point; he should have been more careful. Somehow, he needed to shift the scales back in his favor, or at least back to equality. To let this stand would be unacceptable. But _how?_

The rumble of an opening drawer stole his attention as you withdrew the same hunk of charcoal he used before. A clipboard with several sheets of fresh paper occupied your other hand and his eyes glittered in excitement as you handed them over. He licked his lips and quivered in anticipation, considering his options and refining several ideas.

“May I make a request?”

His gaze shot to yours. A request? So, you wanted to see more of his work. It fed his ego and he nearly purred at the image of you begging him to draw you, dripping in viscous blood after your first kill.

“I cannot stop you,” he said. It wouldn’t do to betray his thoughts, not yet. Caution was a worthy ally.

“Can you draw Griffon, or Vergil? I’m curious what they look like,” you replied.

**Don’t you dare!**

**Speak for yourself, asshat! You do your thing, Van Gogh.**

Lips twisting in amusement, he nodded and drew the first line. Griffon was always interesting to draw, though he _still_ hadn’t managed to get his eyes right. Something about the triple-iris was irritatingly difficult to capture. Not to mention how much he hated feathers.

Still. An enjoyable challenge.

“So, tell me about last week.”

**Now’s your chance. Do not waste it.**

The artist hummed in acknowledgement, eyes locked on his work. He kept his hand elevated so as not to smudge the charcoal unintentionally, his fingers swiping across the pristine page to leave shadowy streaks behind. But how to utilize this opportunity? How best to regain his control of the situation?

_Perhaps a quid pro quo?_

He smirked and lifted his eyes. You were staring at him. “I seem to be having trouble remembering. Maybe you can jog my memory?”

You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes. He didn’t bother trying to hide his Cheshire-like glee. He had you, how could you possibly refuse him?

“What, _exactly_, are you suggesting?”

He leaned back, casually adding another series of marks to his artwork as if your suspicion meant nothing to him, as if he didn’t care if you went along with his ideas. “I’m _suggesting, _Doctor, that you provide me with incentive to share.”

“Such as…?”

“For now? Blue.”

You stared at him as if he were an alien. “You want… _blue?”_

“I cannot do Griffon justice without the proper color,” he replied with a teasing smirk.

An easy trade, a small token to get you used to the idea. What harm could there be in allowing him more colors to use in your own office? It was a simple request, one not worth refusing and as you reached for your drawer, he congratulated himself for his cleverness.

“I don’t think I have any blue pens or anything, let’s see…”

“I’ll make do with whatever you have available,” he replied as you rummaged.

The drawer looked moderately chaotic, as if you put some effort into keeping it organized but you didn’t care enough to maintain it. Post its and paperclips were strewn about, pens and highlighters shoved in the corner. A thumb drive resided amongst a collection of pins.

A single flash of sapphire drew his gaze. Your delicious fingertips hesitated at the item, but you pulled it out a moment later as nothing else offered itself up. He almost laughed as you held it out to him.

_This will be interesting to work with._

A makeup compact, full of blue powder. The color was dark and rich, serendipitously close to the exact shade of the demonic bird.

“This is all I’ve got,” you murmured.

The artist schooled his features into a look of disappointment, playing down his excitement as he accepted the small container. “It will suffice.”

He tested the substance on a fresh sheet of paper, swiping it across with the tip of his thumb. Discerning emerald eyes judged the depth of the hue, analyzing how much he’d need to achieve the proper coloration. If he layered it with the charcoal, it might just work.

You cleared your throat as he began, pen held at the ready for him to speak. That’s right, he was expected to describe last week in exchange. He’d nearly forgotten. Visions ricocheted in his mind, echoes of the night that became his ruin. He didn’t remember everything, but there was enough to recognize the memory. Enough to relive the delightful experience.

But it wouldn’t do to share every detail with you. He chose his words with care, selecting a few key details and adding meaningless drivel for good measure. The day may come when he recounted every moment, but you were nowhere near ready.

“I remember red, a great deal of it. Someone was screaming, but I don’t recall why. Yellow walls and a rhododendron.”

He paused to let you note his every word, swirling blue across the black outline of feathers. The sparkles were a bit much, but he couldn’t do anything to fix that. By the time the scratching of your pen ceased, he was almost finished.

“That sounds intense. Did it feel like a dream or more like a memory?”

He paused, wondering how far he could press you today. It was worth a try; even if you refused it would help him regain a position of strength.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any purple, would you?”

Your eyes sparkled. A slight twist of your pink lips was all the confirmation he needed that you knew what he was up to and you didn’t even glance at your desk before you responded.

“I’m afraid not.”

Despite the setback, he couldn’t help but smirk. There was something odd about you, and every time he interacted with you it became clearer. You got the same amusement from the mental battle as he did, the same thrill every time you scored a point. The same rush of fascination and curiosity.

You were more than just another sheep.

All he needed to do was draw out the wolf.

“That’s a shame, _Y/N,” _he purred. Your chair squeaked as you shifted.

A soft knock on the door signaled the end of your hour with him. He sighed and handed you the clipboard, his drawing of Griffon’s proud flight on full display. Your eyes widened, a slight inhale escaping your lips that would fuel his fantasies for days to come.

“So that’s Griffon?”

He nodded as the door opened and Kevin approached, handing you the makeup and charcoal. It pained him to surrender the supplies, but this way you didn’t have to ask. A subtle difference, but one that reinforced his autonomy instead of your control over his life.

But there was one last gesture he wanted to make.

The moment Kevin freed his hands, he extended one to you with a soft smirk. The orderly’s meaty fist wrapped around his wrist and he didn’t fight back, content to wait for your response.

Suspicion tinted your eyes, mixing with interest as he parted his lips.

“I wanted to thank you, Doctor. I look forward to sleeping unrestrained tonight.”

You shared a glance with the orderly and he let go. The urge to strangle the man for his interference was powerful, but he ignored it. In due time, the man would pay. For now, let him imagine he had won. Far more interesting was your reaction.

You looked startled, but not fearful. More intrigued than anything else.

_Perfect._

The same hand he licked the first time he met you clasped his own, shaking it in a gesture of mutual respect. You didn’t need to know his true goal; to feel your skin and memorize its texture. The knowledge would add depth to his fantasies and he focused on the smooth warmth, hungry for every detail he could glean from such brief contact.

_The hands of one who works indoors…_

He brushed his index finger across your wrist as you pulled back, a more intimate touch not immediately apparent to the accursed third party watching his every move. The barest twitch of your fingers revealed your awareness of his boldness, but you didn’t say a word. Another victory, then.

“Until tomorrow,” he murmured.

**\---Reader---**

The heavy door clicked shut and you released a deep breath. Your heart was pounding, mind consumed with the artist’s simple caress. Those same hands that were capable of such artistry had taken at least three lives; you couldn’t afford to forget how dangerous he was. The mind games, the trickery and bargaining, none of it mattered if you lost your focus.

_What **is **my focus?_

You leaned back and pursed your lips. In broad terms, your goal with other patients was to help them reach a point where their ability to function in normal society was no longer impaired. If they weren’t capable of that much, you were meant to guide them to stability so they could at least have appropriate quality of life.

To envision V in normal society was close to impossible. You couldn’t picture him in a suit, sitting at a cubicle like ordinary folks. Imagining him on a commute was anathema; with a family, unthinkable. The man was an outlier and no amount of treatment would change that.

_So how can I help him?_

You growled in frustration and rubbed your eyes. The flesh he touched still tingled, the nerves jangling with odd enthusiasm. It made no sense; the man was a murderer and here you sat like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Absurdity. You were smarter than this, _better _than this.

_This isn’t a comic book or some crappy romance novel. Life doesn’t work that way. He was trying to manipulate me and I cannot let him win. _

You glanced at the drawing of Griffon, marveling at the unearthly beauty of the creature’s forked beak and massive legs. A demonic bird, the hallucination of a crazed murderer, and you found it beautiful. What an incredible mind he had, to come up with such a thing.

How sad to imagine all the things he could have done with that mind, instead of slaughter. He could have written the next Lord of the Rings, painted the next Sistine Chapel. Manifested something profound instead of destroying the lives of a young family.

_Maybe he still can. If I can help him, who knows what he’ll create?_

A subdued knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. Was it already noon? Time flew right by you, more proof of the ridiculousness surrounding you. With a final sigh you grabbed your purse and locked your computer, heading to join Kotomi for lunch.

“Hey Y/N! How was your weekend?” she asked as you entered the hallway.

Charlie buzzed you through the security door; Ben must have called out sick. “Pretty boring, to be honest. How about you?”

Her eyes sparkled as she described a trip to the museum with her mother, skimming over any interesting parts like she always did. The elder Ishida was legendary in her hatred of psychiatry, and every time she and Kotomi got together she had a new story of her mother’s lectures. You grinned as you reached for the button to call the elevator, all too aware of her heels.

“So, did she disown you for working here yet?”

_“Y/N! _Not so loud! Wait, what’s that on your wrist?”

You hadn’t noticed before, but a streak of charcoal marked where the artist touched you. It was just dark enough to draw attention and you rubbed it against your pants, grateful you wore black today. A pale grey outline remained no matter how hard you tried and you huffed in annoyance.

“It’s charcoal,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “The artist?”

You nodded and stepped forward as the elevator arrived. Her heels clicked to join you as she crossed her arms and gave you an intense stare.

“You let him _touch _you? Have you _lost your mind?!”_

_Did he do it on purpose? Was **this** why he wanted to shake my hand?_

Lithe fingers grasped your shoulders as almond shaped eyes met yours. Her concern was sweet and you wished you had the right words to reassure her.

“Y/N, I’m worried about you. I know how you get with these people; you _need_ to be extra careful with him. I’ve heard rumors, he sounds really dangerous,” she insisted.

You managed a small smile as a ding announced the elevator passing the second floor. There was no change in its motion and you licked your lips, searching for the right words. Of course he was dangerous; you weren’t an idiot, you knew that. And yes, maybe you shouldn’t have let him touch you, but Kevin was _right there_ and you couldn’t let him have control by refusing.

“Look. I know, okay? I know what he’s capable of. I read the police report. But I have to take a few risks to help him, he’s too smart for the standard approach. It’s my job to work with the dangerous ones. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes softened and she dropped her arms, though she still looked troubled. The second ding marked your arrival at ground level and you stepped off in silence, wondering what else you could say to ease her concern.

“Do you want me to sit in on your sessions? Maybe I can help somehow,” Kotomi offered.

How did she _do _that? How did she make herself seem so genuine? Was she _actually _that genuine or was it all an act? It was impossible to say for sure, but you had no reason to doubt her sincerity. Her offer meant all the more considering her aversion to violent offenders, her fear of being around the most twisted minds.

You smiled at Lenny as he buzzed the two of you into the administrative wing. The echoes of Kotomi’s steps rattled through the air as you neared the staff lounge.

“That’s really nice of you to offer, but I’ll be alright. I promise to be careful,” you said.

The remaining charcoal on your wrist drew your eyes as you opened the door. You couldn’t deny the rush his touch gave you, despite the alarm bells that rang in your head. Maybe Kotomi had a point, maybe you were being reckless. No other patient had ever touched you so intimately, with or without permission. Was this response normal?

Did it matter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Reader, if only you knew the plans V and I have for you... Poor Dr. Ishida, she just wants to help her friend.
> 
> Hopefully this installment gave you all a better feel for what Reader's like, thank you again Anon_92 for bringing a few key points to my attention. You helped me develop a bunch of new details that may have never been noticed. 
> 
> As always, my sincerest gratitude to you for reading, leaving kudos and commenting on my work. This story has been a challenge and a half and your responses and encouragement have meant the world to me while I climb this mountain. 
> 
> Next chapter - a visit with Malphas and V's shenanigans with his freedom.


	5. A Matter of Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader updates Dr. Malphas on V's progress and encounters a surprise. V gets back in touch with his gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO IT'S BACK BABY!!! Right in the nick of time, too. I start a new job tomorrow! I have put Crimson Tide on hold and will be narrowing my focus onto this going forward, it deserves to be prioritized. 
> 
> Quick NSFW warning, how could I resist? :3
> 
> Enjoy!

You waved goodbye to Kotomi and headed for Dr. Malphas’ office. It was time to give him an update, per protocol. You sighed and rubbed your wrist against your pants again, trying to get the last few flecks of charcoal off to no avail. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice.

The heavy door was already open when you arrived. A good sign, he never left it open unless he was in a good mood.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Malphas. I’m here to give you an update on V,” you began with a smile.

Familiar grizzled features greeted you from behind the oak desk. A wrinkled hand indicated the leather armchair across from him and you obediently took your seat, offering the charts you brought along for his review.

“Right on time, as always. How’s the patient adjusting?”

Now for the hard part – how much to tell him. You paused to consider as he flipped through the pages, skimming your various notes and assorted data. What was safe to leave out? What did he need to know in order to treat the artist effectively? Certainly not everything. Definitely not the handshake.

“After a catatonic episode on day one and several auditory hallucinations, patient has stabilized enough to be left unrestrained at night. No further violent incidents have occurred since his admission.”

Malphas shifted in his chair to lean forward, his kind eyes locked on yours. “And he passed the G.O.A.T. a few hours ago, correct?”

You nodded and folded your hands in your lap, keeping the smudge out of his line of sight.

“In that case, it might be time to bring him to a group session,” Dr. Malphas said.

A group session. With other patients and access to a full array of art supplies. The idea of V around other patients felt unimaginably dangerous, but why? All you had was a knee-jerk reaction of abject dismay, no medical reasoning or evidence to support your hesitance. Only anecdotes and hearsay. What logical reason could you offer to keep him isolated?

None.

You swallowed and pursed your lips, trying not to fidget. “I agree. Which group has room?”

His eyes drifted to a slip of paper taped to his monitor and you took the opportunity to reposition your hands. “Looks like group three, they meet at four pm.”

A distant rush echoed in your ears as your heartbeat accelerated. _“Today?”_

Dr. Malphas met your gaze with an inquisitive expression, one grey eyebrow lifted high. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

_Shit. What do I do?_

If the artist wasn’t ready, it was your job as his doctor to know and inform the director. Failure to do so would reflect poorly on your abilities, not to mention the potential injuries the man might inflict. Someone could get hurt, someone could _die._

** _Could_ ** _. It’s equally possible nothing will go wrong._

You hated gambling. Certainty and planning were far more effective methods; taking chances wasn’t necessary if one foresaw any potential problems. Rolling the dice, letting the chips fall where they may… it turned your stomach.

But what was the alternative? Admitting you withheld potentially crucial information on your patient, risking everything you worked so hard to achieve? Not to mention Malphas would probably want to see the sketch, maybe even reassign V to Kotomi or Mustafa.

_I’ve already made so much progress. It wouldn’t be fair for him to have to start over with a new doctor. It’s in his best interest for me to preserve the status quo._

“Dr. Waras? Are you all right?”

You blinked away the conflict and forced a smile onto your lips. It wouldn’t do to show any reason for concern.

“Yes, I’m fine. As I said, I have no reason to keep him in isolation. The medication seems to be working and he hasn’t shown any signs of aggression.”

He hummed and leaned back, making a note on V’s chart. “Excellent, see that it’s done, then. Good work.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said as you stood.

He finished his note and closed the folder, returning it to you with a kind smile. With the arm not streaked with charcoal, you accepted it with a smile of your own and turned to leave. The sooner you were gone, the better.

**\---V---**

Never had he been more grateful for the freedom to pace. His legs tingled at first, unused to the activity after so long, but soon enough the sensation faded away. There wasn’t much room; four of his long strides took him from the door to the window.

The view wasn’t great. Through the metal bars, he found a plain grey structure with a matching barred window every few meters. At ground level, several trees lined the walkway that led to the intake area. Crows and robins flitted by occasionally, but other than that he saw no living creatures. A barren yet manicured area, to be sure.

If he’d designed it, a spectacular fountain would feature prominently. Filled with blood, of course. Water was so boring.

Other changes popped into his mind, but none quite so brilliant.

With his daily therapy session already complete, hours of solitude separated him from the next interaction. Plenty of time for planning. Schemes and machinations filled his mind, all the information he gathered so far serving to flesh out the vaguer details.

The importance of your eventual allegiance couldn’t be overstated; without you, he had almost no chance of escape. Kevin may also come in handy, depending on the timing. Once the fool served his purpose, he’d make an excellent canvas for you to practice on.

He shuddered as images of your future exploits flashed into existence. How lovely you’d look streaked in crimson, blade in hand and wearing a wide smile. Kevin’s screams would serve as an excellent soundtrack, mixed with your laughter. Sheer decadence. 

Heat gathered in his gut and his steps halted. Lithe fingers clenched as he tried to focus on his plotting, but his mind refused to cooperate. It was too alluring to imagine you bare and panting, begging him on your knees as he withheld his embrace.

Better yet, as he displayed his carnal skills on another woman, taunting you with every roll of his bloody hips. He’d take your hand and guide you as you flayed the flesh from her bones, sending her into shock. Blood would pool in every crevice of her body and coat his length. A magnificent hue only made more glorious by the canvas that displayed it.

**Do it, you know you want to.**

**Nobody’s watching, you don’t have to hold back.**

_“Fuck…”_

The plans could wait. His need couldn’t.

Softly slippered feet carried him to the camera’s blind spot, turned slightly toward the door. Slim fingers dove under the coarse fabric of his pants, wrapping around his hardening length and drawing it out. His breath hitched at the first contact, a deep groan following soon after as his hand moved.

What would your masterpiece look like? What vision would you strive to manifest, what tableau would you birth? A poetic arrangement of human hands, perhaps. Or a mosaic of molars, maybe a tower of tibias.

His thumb spread the first beads of his arousal over his head and he braced his other forearm against the wall. At this rate, he’d need the extra support.

He’d teach you everything he knew, every technique and method he learned at that ostentatious university. With every lesson, your devotion would grow. If you performed particularly well, perhaps he’d reward you with his tongue. What might you taste like?

His hand quickened, quiet gasps spilling from his lips as he leaned into his palm.

If you tasted even half as good as you smelled, he’d lose himself in lapping at your folds. Your subdued cries and spasming muscles would only motivate him more, especially if you tangled your hands in his hair. How high did your voice go? What pitch would make it break?

He rested his forehead on his braced arm, emerald eyes locked on his pumping fist. How he wished it was yours, with those delicate digits so soft and smooth…

A harsh clatter stole his attention as the door to his room swung open. He tried to turn away and compose himself, but he was far too slow.

_Shit…_

**Worst timing ever, eh, Van Gogh?**

There you stood, slack jawed and staring. What were you even _doing_ here, he should’ve been alone for hours!

“Uh… s-sorry,” you stammered, closing your eyes and turning away.

**Be careful. Don’t scare her.**

The artist grimaced and covered himself. He’d really done it now, how was he going to fix this? Not with an apology, he couldn’t afford to appear weak. Not to mention he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was his room; he should be able to indulge himself if the desire struck.

A joke, then, to break the tension.

“You have the most unfortunate timing, Y/N. I was almost finished.”

A nervous chuckle rewarded his response, but it was clear in the slope of your shoulders you were still on edge.

“You can look, now. I’m decent.”

“R- right. Okay,” you replied, turning ever so slowly toward him. A faint blush stained your cheeks and you kept glancing away, unable to hold his gaze.

Honestly. It was just a cock, why were you acting so strange? Half the population had one, and he doubted it was the first you’d ever seen. You weren’t like most people, but not in _that_ way. Why did you seem so embarrassed?

_Unless…_

His lips stretched into a wicked grin. You were embarrassed because you _liked_ it. Perhaps you’d indulged in your own fantasies, imagining him doing unspeakable things to your body. How perfect, his machinations were bearing fruit already. Goosebumps erupted on his arms at the tantalizing idea.

**Focus, you fool.**

“Shut up, Vergil! I know,” he hissed under his breath, but your ears were too keen.

“What’s Vergil saying?”

_Damn. _

The artist moved to sit on the edge of his thin mattress, brushing strands of black out of his eyes. A deeper voice rumbled from the hall, probably Kevin’s by the sound of it. Yet another reason to tear him to pieces. _Why_ must the idiot interrupt every moment he shared with you?

“Nothing that bears repeating,” he replied with a resigned sigh. “Why are you here?”

Shuffling feet drew closer and familiar meaty hands clicked a pair of cuffs in place on his wrists. What was going on? Was he being moved?

“You’ve been approved for group therapy. We’re here to escort you,” the accursed man answered.

**Interesting… perhaps you’ll meet someone useful.**

V bit his lip to keep from responding. What _exactly_ group therapy entailed, he couldn’t say, but the term implied others were involved. An opportunity, then, at the very least. More tools to utilize in his plans. He stood with a restrained smile, humming his understanding.

“It starts in less than ten minutes, let’s go,” you said.

Kevin followed his every move as he joined you in the hallway. You still refused to meet his eyes, but the blush was already gone. What a shame.

As always, he paid special attention to the security checkpoints and any noteworthy details. It never hurt to gather more information. A fire extinguisher and alarm caught his interest, just on the other side of the first pair of gates.

Not a word broke the silence as you led him to the stairwell, descending a single flight before scanning your badge and opening the door to the second floor. He barely had time to glance outside before Kevin ushered him into a room a meter away. The journey took less than three minutes; obviously you could have easily left him to finish his activities and still brought him in time.

_How inconsiderate… _

Yet at the sight of the room, his frustration vanished. A plain-looking desk and chair sat in the far corner, a couch identical to the one in your office against the opposing wall. Counters lined the far wall, a sink and drying rack beside it.

But what stole his breath was the trio of easels standing nearby, a healthy variety of brushes and colorful tins of paint arranged on a round table to his right.

Tears of joy prickled at his eyes. A chance to paint, to create not with a discarded lump of charcoal but with actual brushes and whatever colors he pleased. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

“We’re a little early, so you get first pick of the easels. Kevin will be right beside you the whole time,” you said.

No doubt Kevin was intended to stop him, should he try anything rash. Unlikely; he was far more interested in painting.

**Jeez, chill out Van Gogh! Try not to piss yourself.**

He grunted but didn’t speak, too aware of his audience. Griffon had a point, though. It would be terribly foolish to let his guard down.

Still, his legs trembled in excitement as he approached the easels, selecting the one with the best view of the room as his own. Kevin brought over an assortment of supplies. The artist expected the man to restrain him somehow, but he only offered a smile and set up the items. The cuffs still held his wrists closer together than he would’ve liked, but he was free to stand and stretch.

His fingers itched to begin. What should he do? With such an array of tools, the possibilities were near limitless.

“Hello, Ken. This is V, he’ll be joining us from now on,” your gentle voice said.

The artist’s eyes darted to asses the new figure, a man of average build with tired eyes and a thin tuft of hair. His features twisted in anxiety, his fingers fidgeting as he took the next easel. A sturdy fellow dressed identically to Kevin shadowed him; so, each patient had their own minder.

“And here’s our last member. How are you feeling, Kelly?”

A rotund woman shuffled forward, eyes downcast and partially hidden behind a curtain of limp hair. Another agent of averageness, barely worth his notice under ordinary circumstances.

“I’m okay, Dr. Waras.”

Even her voice spoke of mediocrity. If she proved useful, it would be quite a shock.

“All right, everyone. Today I’d like you to paint me something that makes you feel angry. Go ahead and start whenever you’re ready.”

Wait, he had to follow a theme? Absurd, how _dare_ you limit him. He’d paint whatever he pleased, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

**Yeah, how’s she supposed to know if something makes you mad? She’s gotta take your word for it!**

A cough covered his amusement. The man to his left, Ken, jumped at the noise and he almost repeated himself. This was going to be _such_ fun.

**\---Reader---**

The assignment was of your own design, meant to grant you new insights into the artist in particular. Kelly and Ken, you already understood. They no longer held your interest.

Speaking of interesting things…

_No! Stop thinking about it._

You honestly didn’t mean to interrupt V’s activities. When you peered through the small window, he was leaned against the wall and moving in a way that didn’t quite click. In your foolishness, you thought he was having an episode or perhaps a seizure. Not until the door opened and his full body was visible did you realize what he was doing.

You pursed your lips. Mixed with your embarrassment was anger at yourself for your reaction. Just standing there, gaping like a fish at his admittedly impressive length. Even such a brief glimpse left lingering images behind of his glistening head and stroking fingers.

How were you _supposed_ to handle something like that? It’s not like you could pretend nothing happened, not with his teasing words making fun of you. Ridiculous, _he_ should’ve apologized to _you_, not the other way around.

You forced it from your mind and took your usual spot at the desk, observing your three patients with a critical eye. Kelly hadn’t even picked up a brush yet, but Ken had a few streaks of blue on the canvas. V was still busy mixing colors together. Heat flooded your face as his fingers smoothly combined red and purple, the same hand he used to-

_Stop thinking about it!_

And he hadn’t washed his hands.

You shifted your weight, refusing to acknowledge the faint stirring inside you. You’d have to be a complete lunatic to indulge _that_ line of thought.

An irritated huff drew your attention back to the artist. He was glaring at the mixture on his palette as if its very existence offended him. Kevin’s shoulders tensed as he noticed the hostility, bracing to intervene the moment it became necessary.

“This is unacceptable.”

Ken snuck a peek, his suspicion and curiosity obvious. The poor man had serious issues with sudden changes. It would’ve been better if you’d been able to tell him V was joining beforehand, but it didn’t matter at this point. The damage was done.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

The artist met his eyes with a scowl. “This color, it’s not right. Far too bright.”

Maybe you should’ve expected this. The man went to school for this, for heaven’s sake. Of course he’d be picky about his materials, given the chance.

“Oh. Okay then. Can’t you just add some black or something?” Ken replied.

_This could be bad…_

Ken’s words could easily be taken poorly, as an insult to the artist’s skills. You leaned closer, darkly curious how he’d react. Kevin was right there if he attacked, though he may do some damage if he aimed for the eyes. If not, it might be a sign of serious progress. Either way, an interesting development.

“No, that would make it _too_ dark. Here, I’ll show you,” the black-haired murderer said calmly.

_Huh. _

Ken narrowed his eyes but listened as V patiently showed him the basics of mixing. It was incredible, a whole new facet of his personality you’d never seen before. He reminded you of a college art teacher, his every word laden with knowledge and enthusiasm. You thanked your lucky stars the room featured two cameras, allowing you to observe without worrying about taking down any details.

Even Kelly listened, showing more interest than you’d ever seen from her. He answered their questions and demonstrated some simple techniques, all with a total lack of hostility.

It filled you with regret. So much potential, wasted. He could’ve done so much if he took a different path. What a goddamned shame.

“Why don’t you try it now?”

Ken selected a blinding shade of yellow and a forest green, mixing them together with a spark of delight in his eyes. To your amazement, he actually laughed and thanked the artist for his explanation before turning back to his own easel.

Then V’s clever eyes met yours and he winked, a knowing smirk twisting his lips.

**\---V---**

Winking might have been going too far, but he couldn’t resist. Not with that gob smacked look on your face. He knew you probably expected him to react differently, but Shadow’s warning roar broke through the haze of fury before it was too late. She _truly_ was the best of them.

Ken was tolerable enough. He’d make a decent ally, when the time came. Perhaps during the next group session, he’d try to learn why the man was here, what made him tick. How to manipulate him.

Kelly was far less appealing. She lacked energy, the poor thing. She might serve as a decent canvas, but nothing more. What a shame.

He returned his focus to his easel. The color still refused to cooperate, but he’d have to make do. Enough time wasted on lesser pursuits; it was time to paint.

The first stroke of his brush was sheer bliss. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings as the bright crimson streak marked his canvas. A euphoric grin split his lips and one of his knees started bouncing in delight. Oh, what perfection, to be able to hone his skills once again.

He tilted his head, assessing angles and planning the next several additions in advance. Time lost meaning as more and more layers covered the plain white foundation of his work, shades of red and purple and blue forming the shapes in his mind.

He was a conduit for a higher purpose, tapping into something far larger than himself. _This_ was his purpose. Every mark he added brought him closer to nirvana, his arm flying across with practiced ease.

A deep cough shattered his trance. Rage pulsed under his skin as he shot a glare at Kevin, only just resisting the urge to drive the handle of his brush through his nostril and deep into his brain. The time would come, but this wasn’t it.

Destroying the fool held _almost_ as much appeal as burying his cock in your core.

“We’re almost out of time, guys. Ten more minutes,” you announced.

Panic bloomed in his chest. It was too soon, he needed more time. He couldn’t bear the thought of being locked in that small room for however long, cut off from his purpose once again.

**You have no choice. Focus. **

Vergil was right. He lacked the means to fight back, for now.

The artist sighed and gauged his work. Not even close to his high standards, but he hadn’t used such mediocre supplies in years. He couldn’t expect perfection, not with such lackluster tools. All he could do was add a little bit more purple, perhaps a touch of yellow…

The final touch was two rapid strokes of black, meeting in the lower right corner. He smirked, remembering the day he changed his name. The one his parents granted him at birth didn’t befit him, far too mundane to be attributed to his masterpiece. It would’ve been such a chore signing such a complicated string of letters, he much preferred his chosen moniker.

“We’re out of time, everyone. Let’s see what you made.”

You approached Ken’s easel first, praising his use of color. V allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation for his teaching before taking a look. He had to bite his cheek to contain his laughter, but even so a snort slipped free.

The man painted a _cat._

A cat with a _pistol._

**What the…**

**My sentiments exactly.**

How did you maintain your composure? It baffled him, a cat with a gun did nothing to you, yet the sight of his cock made you stutter. Unbelievable. You definitely broke the mold.

Kelly’s canvas showed a poorly executed portrait, splotchy blobs for eyes and a thin line of pink forming what he assumed to be a mouth. Pitiful, yet you offered her praise as well.

Then you came to his.

“Oh… Um, very nice work, V. Very detailed,” you offered.

“Thank you, Dr. Waras. Would you like to keep it?”

You pursed your lips and shook your head, fingers tapping on your thighs. “That’s all right. Go ahead and escort them back to their rooms, please. I’ll clean up.”

The artist shrugged as if he didn’t care and allowed Kevin to lead him from the room. The last sight before he turned the corner was of your face, staring at his creation as if it held the secrets of the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses on what V painted? :3 I hope you guys enjoyed seeing a little bit more of his past and his first interaction with other patients. Both Ken and Kelly have been featured in prior chapters, they have a part to play in the future. (Why do I use so many names starting with the letter K, WTF?!) The group therapy is something I pulled out of my ass, I have no idea if that's a thing that happens. (Story before realism, folks!)
> 
> As always, my undying gratitude to all of you for reading, leaving a kudos and sharing your thoughts with me. The best part about writing fanfiction is interacting with my readers, you guys are amazing!
> 
> Next chapter - Reader talks to someone important and tries to process V's shenanigans.


	6. Cause...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader makes an important choice and V puts his plan into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Welcome back :)
> 
> This chapter sets the stage for a major plot point coming up, it's all coming together! Side note, I had so much fun seeing your ideas on what V painted! Thank you to everyone who shared their thoughts with me. Enjoy the big reveal! ALSO!!! Check out this phenomenal fanart by my good friend VCifer - https://vitalissparda.tumblr.com/image/189160243439
> 
> Oh btw - if you can't see the inserted image in the chapter, here's a link - https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/5ff3974a-3d4f-4186-94d6-e2b8e12d1038/ddimv07-712a01a2-0fde-47d0-a8fb-78e1f6f04625.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzVmZjM5NzRhLTNkNGYtNDE4Ni05NGQ2LWUyYjhlMTJkMTAzOFwvZGRpbXYwNy03MTJhMDFhMi0wZmRlLTQ3ZDAtYThmYi03OGUxZjZmMDQ2MjUucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.WnH_liht6zuCAlw6Lh7mGTPUoeyc6-U2bztrg_FmIuM

You sighed as the last patient left the room, alone at last. Thoughts raced through your mind, whizzing like Mentos in a bottle of Coke. Too much happened today, you needed the chance to process and assess.

First of all, you outright _lied_ to your boss. You risked your career, your reputation and integrity, and for what? Why did you do such an idiotic thing? It made no sense, but it was quickly becoming a pattern. First the hidden sketch, then the incomplete notes regarding your sessions, and now this. What was _wrong_ with you?

Second, walking in on V’s…

You pursed your lips as blood rushed to your face. Even _thinking_ about it made you feel like an idiot.

Third, the artist’s behavior with the other patients. You’d imagined a variety of possibilities for the session, but not once had you pictured him teaching, showing patience and compassion. The man seemed limitless in his ability to surprise you.

However, you struggled to believe the moment was genuine after the wink. Was he only putting on an act for your benefit? If so, _why?_

If his goal was to convince you of his stability the wink was a stupid choice, and V was _anything_ but stupid. Had he simply meant it as a playful gesture, a manifestation of your strange relationship? Unlikely, but possible. His version of an inside joke, perhaps.

Or he may have only wanted to throw you off. He loved playing mind games, after all. It would fit what you knew of him so far, but something still felt off about the exchange. None of the scenarios brought you any comfort or reassurance.

Fourth on your list of weird things that happened today; his painting. Since several others already saw it, there was no chance you could keep it from his file. All you could do was cross your fingers and hope Malphas didn’t read into it too much.

You glanced at it every few seconds as you gathered the used brushes and rinsed away the paint, scrubbing at the palettes until they returned to their pristine white. He truly was gifted, there was no denying that. Even with your limited understanding of art, his skill was obvious.

But that wasn’t why you couldn’t stop looking at it.

No, that was due to the _subject_ of his work. You took another look as you set the supplies aside to dry, searching for insights into his thoughts. Any detail might prove crucial to his treatment, regardless of what the image made you feel.

It wasn’t your job to _feel_; only to treat.

He’d created a sunset over a grey building, windows dripping with what could only be blood. Barren trees and wilted grass framed a narrow stone path, a pair of bats in mid-flight between their desolate branches. Every stroke led the eye to the two figures traversing the scene, their likenesses too familiar to ignore.

Kotomi’s form featured energetic shades of scarlet, evocative of rage and hatred. A sickly green hue replaced the normal chocolate shade of her almond eyes and a cruel grin twisted her lips. She resembled a demon or a monster from an old myth. Devoid of her usual radiance and beauty, leaving only spite and fury behind.

Beside her stood a figure that could only be yours. Even with her face turned away, it was clear from the hairstyle and clothing. Unlike with Kotomi, V used vivid purples and blues to create your image. He’d taken the time to use a finer brush, adding details ignored in all other areas. The gentleness of his strokes stunned you, but not as much as the tiny orb of black resting right where your heart lied.

_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

Yet the most disturbing aspect of the image was the tightly clenched fist in the foreground, ebony lines running from knuckle to wrist. V’s hand, without a doubt. There, his technique shifted to an almost surreal level of intentional distortion. No other word suited the twisted lines or the overly bony fingers.

_Is this from the night he had that episode? Did he see me and Kotomi leaving? How? He should’ve been restrained still! _

You pursed your lips and unhooked the canvas, laying it on the counter to dry. There was no doubt it was you, the pattern of the shirt matched what you wore that day.

_Is it possible that’s what triggered his episode? But why? Why would **that** make him angry?_

You told yourself he envied your freedom, but the thought rang with falseness. The truth was there, plain for all to see in his work if they only knew what to look for. Why _else_ would he paint you and Kotomi so differently?

Yet you refused to allow the words to form in your head.

Denial had its uses.

Over the next few days, you tried to keep from thinking about the painting. It was in the system and out of your control, only time would tell what consequences waited for you, if any. There was nothing to gain from thinking on it further.

Despite your best efforts, it snuck its way into your mind more than once. how could it not? It was stunning work.

In your daily private sessions, the artist created new pieces to add to his growing file. Scenes of carnage and mayhem, death and disaster. Each featured himself or Griffon, but never any others. No new details. Relief at not finding yourself his subject again mixed with disappointment at the lack of new information with every scanned image.

Today was no exception.

The page in your hands displayed the man himself swimming in red with an angelic smile. You sighed as the door to your office clicked shut as Kevin took V back to his quarters yet again. If the man just talked, this would be so much easier, but he refused to answer any questions about his past.

_Maybe he’s not as interesting as I thought…_

You pursed your lips. It was too early to jump to conclusions. He needed more time to develop trust, that’s all. You just had to be patient.

A harsh ping broke your reverie as an email notification lit your screen. The sender marked it as top priority and you clicked on the tab; maybe this could keep you busy for a while. A new patient? Changes to protocol?

_Oh, no… it’s from Malphas._

_He knows! Shit!_

It was foolish to imagine he wouldn’t notice. What were you _thinking,_ allowing it to get this far? Honestly, the man wasn’t even that interesting. He certainly wasn’t worth your career, not after so many years in medical school. Plus, you still owed thousands of dollars in student loans. You couldn’t afford to be set back, too much was at stake.

_Calm down! Think it through, come on!_

Your heartbeat raced as you read the message again, just to be sure. It wouldn’t do to overreact.

_Do I need to be concerned about the nature of your relationship with your patient?_

It was phrased as a question. All Malphas had was the painting, he probably didn’t have a clue about the rest. You’d been careful, nobody except you and V knew about the other sketches or the incident before the first group session. By the time Kevin entered the room, the artist was fully covered and the orderly was the least observant person you’d ever known.

It wasn’t too late.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a suitable response in moments. Everything rode on how well you covered your ass today; a single wrong word and you were done for.

_Absolutely not. The patient is developing an attachment to me, but I assure you I remain nothing but professional. I will not allow the patient’s stance to interfere with treatment. _

A sour taste filled your mouth. The lies kept getting worse, but what else could you do? Besides, he was making progress. It was worth it to restore him, right?

It had to be.

You waited a few minutes to hit send; it might be suspicious if you replied more quickly than usual. What a mess, to even need to consider such a ridiculous deception.

_Well, at least I’m not bored._

A snort split your pursed lips and you leaned back in your chair. The first pulses of a tension headache brought your hands to your temples, rubbing away the pain. The last one was years ago, back in med school.

In a way, you enjoyed it. The pain and panic shattered the torturous disinterest you normally felt. Not the most pleasant shift, but a shift nonetheless. You’d take what you could get.

Another ding signaled a response. Your eyes fluttered open to read.

_I thought so, but I had to ask. It’s protocol, after all. If it becomes an issue I can assign the patient to a different doctor, but until then keep up the good work! _

The pain vanished and the void of disinterest returned, the danger now resolved. You released a deep grown of frustration and tried to reignite the embers of strife, but it was too late.

**\---V---**

The artist swallowed the now familiar capsule with a grimace. What a joke, to think a mere few milligrams could transform him into a mindless sheep. There was no caging the wolf within, not now.

Not ever again.

All he needed to do was escape, then his masterpiece could finally be completed. The thought flooded his senses with delight, joy so profound a bark of laughter spilled from his lips.

_Soon… _

By his count, a full week had passed since his first group session. Any minute now, Kevin would collect him for round two and he’d finally get to test his theory. If all went smoothly, he might be free by the end of the day.

**Only if the circumstances align. Don’t let your impatience ruin everything.**

“Yes, Vergil. Any mistakes and all is lost.”

**Do not fail me.**

He swallowed at the threatening tone in the man’s voice. The consequences of falling short were dire, he knew that. The restraints would return and he’d likely be barred from future group sessions. He may never leave his small quarters again. Never be allowed to touch a paintbrush again.

Unacceptable.

So, he needed to be cautious. Meticulous in his planning. Flawless in execution and creative when something inevitably went wrong. Even the finest plans fell apart at first contact with the enemy, after all. Haste would spell his doom.

Familiar shuffling steps heralded Kevin’s arrival and V smirked, stepping to the door to meet him with arms held at the ready for the ever-present cuffs.

“Hello, Kevin. How’s your family?”

Over the last several days, he made it a point to gain the orderlies trust. It wasn’t hard, considering how straightforward he was. A question here, a comment there…

“Doing good! Sarah starts kindergarten next week, we’re taking her out to celebrate this weekend.”

The metal clicked into place and the artist followed the other man to the security gate. “Wonderful! I imagine she’s excited.”

Kevin chuckled as the guard buzzed them past, barely paying attention to his surroundings. Throughout the elevator ride and the short walk to the group room, V chatted about meaningless drivel as if nothing else mattered. He was grateful the journey didn’t take long, otherwise he might’ve lost his patience and choked the fool.

And then there you were, smiling as you spotted him.

His progress with you was much slower. It _needed_ to be, considering how much he planned to ask of you. If he rushed the process, you wouldn’t survive. After all his careful conditioning this far, the idea alone set his teeth on edge.

“Hi, V. Kevin. Come on in,” you said.

“Hello, Dr. Waras. Are we the first again?” he replied.

You nodded and gestured at the trio of easels, as if he needed encouragement. Enough pleasantries.

The itch returned to his fingers as Kevin brought over an assortment of supplies. Plain white canvas begged for his touch, the surface naked without his work. Lightness spread through his chest and his breath hitched, mind already racing with ideas.

Ken and Kelly arrived moments later, taking the same spots as last week. The round woman looked as bleak as ever, unwashed and lethargic. Her eyes didn’t meet his once as she sat and waited for her supplies. Truly, a waste of space if ever he saw one. He turned to Ken instead.

“Hello, Ken.”

He met the man’s eyes with a slight smile, forcing his face to display honesty and welcome. Even with only an hour of experience around him, V knew Ken didn’t trust easily. Subtlety was his only hope of success.

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started. Today I want you to paint the first thing you think of when I say the word ‘flight’.”

**Quite a different prompt from last week. **

**No kidding. She’s playin’ it safe, Van Gogh.**

He ignored them, still focused on Ken. The man stared at him like an alien, struggling to respond. After an uncomfortably long pause, he ever so slowly nodded in greeting. It would do, for now.

V turned back to his canvas. Flight.

Vergil and Griffon were right, loathe as he was to admit it. The word ‘flight’ brought several ideas to mind, most of which were beneath him to bother with. Yet each idea lacked risk or daring, despite man’s natural position on the ground. Last week’s painting must have left a lasting impression, indeed.

In that case, he needed to be conservative. Too much at once and he’d lose you. No matter how strong the temptation, his resistance now meant greater pleasures in the future.

The first stroke of pale sapphire purged every thought from his mind. The second, and a shiver of delight raced up his spine. With the third came goosebumps, and the fourth stole the air from his lungs. He marveled at the myriad of sensations, reveling in how no matter how many times he painted, it always brought the same euphoria.

“Kelly, do you need help?” you asked after ten minutes.

V huffed in frustration at the rude destruction of his trance-like state. If the woman was so hopeless as to need help, she shouldn’t be there. Even a child could paint a bird. How you sounded so understanding, he didn’t know. He listened with half his attention as he continued his work, switching brushes to begin outlining the details.

“I can’t think of anything…”

A soft hum and the rustle of fabric. “Well, let’s start with things that fly. Planes, insects, maybe birds?”

“I don’t like birds.”

The artist tuned out the conversation. There was nothing to gain from listening further, besides annoyance at the woman’s stupidity. He already had plenty of that. Perhaps it was a good time to work on Ken? The three orderlies looked like they weren’t paying a speck of attention, this was as unsupervised as he was likely to get.

He leaned a few inches closer and licked his lips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Ken blinked like an owl, his hand frozen in midair several inches from the waiting canvas. _“What?”_

“I’ll tell you why I’m stuck here if you’ll do the same.”

A pause. V hummed and added several feathers to the wings, dabbing globs of yellow between to represent the melting glue. Ah, Icarus. The first child lost to naive dreams and foolishness.

_Well, probably not the **first**._

“You go first,” Ken replied at last.

V knew his options. Lying would get him nowhere, the man could ask anyone on staff and no doubt they’d tell his story. Any trust between them would be irrevocably damaged. All he could do was frame the truth in a favorable light, or at least try.

“I murdered three people.”

A startled squeak slipped from Ken’s tightened lips. His eyes were comically wide, nostrils flaring. _“Why?”_

V glanced again at the orderlies, finding them a few feet back with drooping lids. Nothing to be concerned about. “To awaken humanity to the truth. None are safe from the folly of innocence.”

A moment passed in silence, the quiet sound of horsehair on canvas the only soundtrack to the scene. V glanced at Ken every so often, timing his next words with the moment his face began to relax from his instinctual terror.

“Why are _you_ here? What nonsense do they tell you is wrong with you?”

“They… they say I’m delusional,” he began, adding a few shaky dollops of color. “But I _swear_ it’s all true.”

The artist smirked. “Hmm. A familiar tune. Any who are blind to the truth refuse to even admit its possible existence.”

When he next looked toward Ken, the man was gaping at him. Fear still flickered in his shining eyes, but a hint of relief teased at the edges. Perhaps no one believed him before, how perfect. A better opening, he couldn’t imagine.

“Care to share?” he asked with an intrigued expression.

He listened in stoic and attentive silence as Ken spouted off theory after theory, gathering steam as he continued. The man seemed capable of believing anything, from potential coups to life on Mars and everything in between. He may be far more useful than he’d initially imagined. If he were to take advantage, all he needed to do was suggest a conspiracy. Child’s play.

V checked the others in the room. You were _still_ locked in a discussion with Kelly. The woman had yet to even open a container of paint. The orderlies stood at least six feet back, only still vertical because they locked their knees. Fools.

When Ken at last fell silent, V gestured towards you and Kelly with a dismissive flick of his brush. “Look at how she fawns, it’s absurd.”

The man glanced his way and shrugged, his hand still adding blue to form a skyline. Why wait? Might as well get started now.

“Considering the state Kelly's in, the assignment seems like torture. Do you think she might be trying to provoke further depths of pain from the poor woman?”

Another distracted glance, but the first hints of concern appeared. “Who, Dr. Waras?”

“Yes, she seems manipulative, don’t you think?”

Ken’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His brows furrowed in thought and a frown twisted his lips. Perfect, it was working. Now, to drive it home.

“I’d _hate_ to be the target of her scheming. Who _knows_ what she has planned?”

The man closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his unsteady hand leaving a jagged line on his simplistic work.

“Perhaps this place is meant to destroy us. They say they’re trying to heal us, but have you gotten any better? I haven’t.”

Ken whimpered and V struggled to keep the smirk at bay.

“If only there was a way to escape…”

The artist lowered his eyes, his shoulders dipping as if in resignation as he turned back to his own canvas. He heard every harsh breath the man took, every squirm as he battled at his suggestions. In time, he would succumb. He lacked the will power to do anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha, so when I was trying to figure out what he painted, I was talking to Mochi and I STG it felt like getting hit by lightning. I didn't plan any of that, but looking back it just works. IDK if you guys caught it, but when he marked Reader with charcoal? That was the first time V saw her after his episode and its aftermath. 
> 
> Also, I have gotten a few requests for permission to create fan art of this fic. This goes out to all of you - Go nuts. I'm honored that anyone gets inspired by my work and I will never have a problem with someone being creative. I'd love to see anything you guys make, but if you aren't comfortable I still want you to do it. Have fun :)
> 
> As always, my heartfelt gratitude to you for reading, leaving kudos and leaving me a comment. You guys are rockstars, every single one of you!
> 
> Next chapter - we find out how Ken reacts to V's manipulations, and Reader faces a crisis.


	7. And Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader has a conversation with a figure from the past, and Ken reacts to V's suggestions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, guys! Look at that, I'm actually updating regularly!
> 
> Quick warning for gore and emergency situations, enjoy!

**\---Reader---**

By the end of the hour-long group session, Kelly managed to make a clumsy outline of an airliner. A small victory, considering the fuss she made.

_Who doesn’t like birds? Honestly…_

But it wasn’t your place to judge, only to treat. The biases and preconceptions you carried could never be allowed to influence your work, not if you were going to be an effective behavioral psychologist. That was the plan. As long as you didn’t fuck everything up, it _might_ still work out.

You smiled at Kevin as he led V away, the last patient to depart. His canvas featured a gravity-defying youth, panic-stricken and frantic as feathers drifted away from his disintegrating wings. A shadowy figure floated nearby, but the artist didn’t have enough time to add much detail to poor Daedalus. Probably for the best.

A sharp trill pulsed from your pocket. You fished out your cell and glared at the screen; only one person _ever_ called this early.

“Hi, dad.”

Tinny rock music played in the background, laughter and conversation a clear indicator of where he was. Of course.

_Here we go again._

_“Hi, sweetie! It’s been a long time, how are you?”_

Despite the fact no one remained to overhear, you still tensed and scanned the room. “Uh, I’m okay. At work.”

A raucous roar of delight; it must be trivia night. He never missed it. _“Can’t you spare a few minutes for your old man?”_

You pursed your lips and tilted your head, taking a seat as you surrendered. Once he got a few drinks in, there wasn’t much point saying no. He’d just call back until you answered.

“I guess. I don’t have long, though.”

_“You still at the nuthou- oh! Silence of the Lambs!”_

Another cheer. He must be doing well today. Where the _hell_ was Peter? “You really shouldn’t call it that. It’s a psychiatric hospital.”

_“Right, right, sorry. Any interesting kooks lately?”_

You rolled your eyes. No matter how many times he asked, the answer never changed. Not that he’d remember it tomorrow, but it was the principle of the thing! “You know I can’t tell you. It’s illegal.”

The timbre of the music shifted, a new song blaring through the ancient speakers of his favorite haunt. You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. Not much longer, he always got distracted after a few minutes. All you needed to do was stay calm and not react when he inevitably said something rude or just plain stupid.

_“Awww, you’re no fun! Can’t you find a loophole? You were always so good at that.”_

** _There_ ** _ it is. I can always count on you, dad…_

“There’s not really anything to tell, anyway. Even if I could talk about it, it’s pretty boring.”

Deflect, deflect, deflect. Wait him out and let him guide the conversation without letting him steamroll you. Never instigate or react emotionally, that only made him do the same. You could deal with your own feelings later, for now you needed to keep them hidden.

_“C’mon, you work with crazy people! How boring can it be?”_

You forced a dry chuckle from your throat. “You’d be surpri-“

A harsh chime screamed its fury before you finished speaking. You winced and almost dropped the phone; did you forget about a drill or something?

“Dad, I gotta go! Something’s up!”

You didn’t even try to hear his response. Emergency protocols already flooded your mind, the klaxon instantly sending you into crisis mode. There was no time to lose.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! _

The sleeves of your lab coat snapped through the air as you snatched the checklist and jogged to the door. Whatever was happening, the first step was always the same; taking a headcount.

The security gate stood ajar, unmanned as all personnel had far more important tasks than to push a button. Stepping through without so much as a pause threw the situation into sharp focus; this was no drill.

_This is really happening._

Beads of adrenaline-fueled sweat broke across your forehead, eyes dilated and darting. The soles of your shoes slapped against the floor, faster and faster with every heartbeat. You took the stairs three at a time yet still it felt too slow. Never had the third floor seemed farther away.

_Calm down, Y/N! You can’t afford to let panic control you right now!_

By the time you reached the high secure wing, Aaron had most of the orderlies racing into position. Several patients already wore cuffs, obediently staying in a staff member’s line of sight. There was Jacob, under Rob’s watchful eye. Over there, Veronica and a pair of men in staff uniforms stared wide-eyed at the growing crowd. Someone was screaming, almost as loud as the alarm.

It was ordered chaos.

_Where’s V?_

The artist was nowhere to be seen. Kevin was conspicuously absent as well, maybe he was having trouble wrangling the sly bastard? What if the chaos triggered another episode? How would you get him out?

“Dr. Waras! What the hell happened?”

Kotomi. At least _she _was where she was supposed to be. Her dark eyes flew from one patient to the next, every limb frozen in sheer terror. At the alarm or the patients, you weren’t sure. Probably both.

“I don’t know yet! Is anyone missing?”

“I- I don’t know! I just got here!” she cried. Useless.

She squeaked as Oliver dashed past her, Ben barely a step behind. All around you, staff danced into position as if performing an intricate ballet. While fear featured heavily among the familiar faces, none but your best friend stood paralyzed by it.

_God damnit, Kotomi!_

“Get a hold of yourself, Dr. Ishida!” you snapped, glaring at her even as you marked off names on your list. “This isn’t the time to fall apart!”

She was shaking like a leaf, fluid gathering in her eyes at your harsh words. The blaring alarm drowned out the sound of her choked breathing, but the jolting motion of her chest laid it out for all to see. Another figure shoved their way by her and she flinched.

_Fucking useless. I’m going to have to do her job, too._

“Fine, just stay out of the way!”

If she responded, you didn’t hear it as you left her behind. You had a job- no, _two_ jobs to do. You didn’t have time to babysit her, she’d have to get through it by herself.

“Aaron! Talk to me!”

The hulking man gave one last command to whomever he was talking to and joined you. Not a hint of fear marked his face and you thanked your lucky stars Malphas had the foresight to hire a veteran for the position. He’d probably seen far worse than this, more than once.

“Right, we’ve got three missing! Kevin, Ken Sinclair and V, Mark and his team are on it! Everyone else accounted for and ready for evac!”

_Shit, Ken too? No doubt he’s going to fight tooth and nail, probably thinks the cat made its move._

A full minute, already wasted. Not fast enough. “Keep me posted, I-“

The atrocious screech of the alarm vanished as red emergency lights flicked on. Your heart sank even as your ears rang. Red meant fire.

_Where the fuck is V?!_

Aaron’s intense grey gaze locked with yours, haunted with the knowledge of what might go wrong in the next few minutes. “We gotta go, now!”

“Right, start evacuating. I’ll try and reach the others.”

He nodded and started barking orders, waving his hands until the horde obeyed his commands. With each face that walked past, another check marked their names on your list. Only two patients remained blank.

Not good.

Malphas was going to eviscerate you.

**\---V---**

He nearly laughed when the insistent wail began. That was faster than he’d imagined, how perfect.

“Shit, we gotta move!” Kevin said.

V rolled his eyes and kept pissing. Nature waited for no man. Besides, how much danger could he possibly be in? Ken couldn’t have done that much damage…

**Remember, no detail is insignificant. **

“Indeed,” the artist replied, answering both Kevin and Vergil as one.

With a final shake, he finished up just as Kevin’s thick hands gripped his biceps. The artist smirked but allowed the blundering fool to guide him from the bathroom, headed to the stairs and likely back to his quarters. Truly, Ken must’ve barely managed to trigger the alarm.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted motion. He turned to face it and took note; all the security gates stood open. Perhaps this was his chance? He could easily overpower Kevin and run, who knew if he’d get a better chance?

_No, better to wait. I cannot afford to fail and I lack the knowledge to ensure success._

Kevin waved him through first, his watery eyes wide and watchful. No, he needed more information before making his move. For now, he’d cooperate and observe. As Vergil said, no detail he saw today was insignificant.

“Go down, we’re evacuating,” Kevin said.

A promising start. Where would they evacuate to, though? The courtyard? The parking lot?

The wail of the siren cut out and the fluorescent lights shifted, crimson security bulbs coming to life every few feet. He smirked; his favorite color.

Well, close enough.

“Shit,” Kevin muttered.

“What? What’s happening?” V asked. Any information the buffoon shared could only serve to aid his future plots.

“I don’t know, but those lights only turn on if there’s actually a fire.”

_Oh, well done, Ken! I underestimated you!_

He hummed and waited at the door to the first floor. A series of short clicks broke out from a speaker overhead and Kevin frowned. The artist raised an eyebrow and stared at him, a silent question locked in his gaze.

“That means the high secure patients are about to enter the stairwell.”

“And what of the other patients?”

Thick shoulders heaved in a mystified shrug. Unfortunate, it may have been fruitful to meet more of the potential tools…

The security door leading to the intake area stood open, not a soul to be seen as the two men progressed to the front door. It surprised V; where _was_ everyone?

He found his answer mere seconds later as he felt sunlight touch his skin for the first time in weeks. A churning mass of people stood in groups amongst the trees, all color of scrubs mixed together as patients and staff found their proper spots. Voices called out names and he heard sobbing, a few peals of inappropriate laughter mixed in.

“Right, come on,” Kevin ordered, gesturing to the side.

They kept to the edges of the horde, never more than an arm’s length from the bland building. V noted that the first floor windows lacked bars, a weakness he may yet be able to exploit. Already, Ken’s gift bore fruit.

Kevin led him to the barren east parking lot and paused. “This is it.”

The artist hummed and panned his gaze. He hadn’t seen much on his way in, not from the back of the prison transport. Time to gather information. When he ultimately made his escape, he’d need a solid plan to leave the premises.

This had to be the guest parking lot; most of the spaces remained vacant. Towering oaks and firs stood watch on the fringes, a gravel path meandering through their ancient trunks. Through the heavy foliage he caught glimpses of stonework; a wall must wrap around the facility. Somewhere in the distance, the familiar whoosh of a busy roadway announced its presence.

“Here they come,” Kevin commented.

Indeed, a troupe of somewhat recognizable faces approached from the great crowd. There was Kelly, morose as ever. He didn’t see Ken or you, but there was that horrible woman he’d seen you leave with. What a treat it would be to peel her face from her skull and show it to her.

**Soon enough.**

Yet one face was achingly absent – where were you?

**\---Reader---**

“Ken! Ken, where are you?”

You were running out of time. Unless you were willing to break protocol, you needed to evacuate in the next three minutes and join the others.

Yet you still couldn’t find Ken. Or Kevin.

_Or V…_

You pursed your lips and shoved the next door open, the last of the mid secure quarters. Nothing.

“Shit.”

Panic tugged at your mind as you turned toward the next door. It didn’t make any sense, none of them had any reason to be in the mid secure gymnasium, but you still needed to check. You were responsible for the entire third floor, every room needed to be cleared before you left.

_I wouldn’t have to do this crap if they’d all been where they were supposed to be!_

And damn Kotomi, she should’ve taken half the floor herself. Over thirty rooms, and you had a total of eight minutes to check them all. Absurd.

You froze as the gymnasium door creaked open under your palm.

“Ken… what did you do?”

His crumpled form lied on the stretching mats, facing the far wall. A metal bin beside him crackled, flames reaching over the lip. Another body lied near the weight benches, a barbell drenched in blood and brain matter beside it. The head was so crushed you didn’t know who it was, but the blue scrubs gave him away as an orderly. You sagged in relief, even though you still had no idea where V was.

Bile flooded your mouth as you forced yourself closer, avoiding the spattered gristle to take the fire extinguisher. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, feces and urine and that special scent only found in cadavers. You hadn’t smelled it in years, but it was impossible to forget. It was even worse than you remembered when mixed with burning flesh and smoke.

You didn’t spare a glance at Ken as you readied the nozzle and sprayed, white foam shooting out to stifle the fire. An acrid chemical tang tickled your irritated nostrils but you ignored it, keeping your focus where it mattered.

The moment the flames went out, you went to Ken. The orderly was obviously beyond help, but you tried not to think about that. One life might still hang in the balance.

Burns were far from your specialty, but even a child would know his arms were in bad shape. Black and red patches dappled his flesh, bubbles of pus and ichor already forming. Several fingers looked beyond repair, nails melted away and white bone glistening in what remained.

“Oh, no…”

You reached down and searched for a pulse, only daring to breathe once you found the rapid rhythm. He was alive.

_For now… but where the hell is V?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are not yet done with the fallout of the fire, but I really wanted to get something out today. Who knows, maybe I'll get the next part done tomorrow? :3
> 
> As always, thanks for investing your time in my story, leaving kudos and dropping a few words! I always smile when I get a new comment, you guys are the best!
> 
> Next time - we find out just how bad Ken's injuries are, and some unexpected consequences must be dealt with.


	8. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, got another one out! Quick warning for gore, in case anyone doesn't expect it from me for some reason... BTW a good friend sent me this song and holy crap is it perfect for this fic!!! Check it out - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CT2ZHujaLhM
> 
> Enjoy!

**\---Reader---**

_This is **so** not what I studied…_

“God _damnit_, Ken.”

Hideous burns extended almost to his elbows. The scorched tapestry of red and black tissue oozed yellowish goo where the deep fatty layer had melted, filling the room with a putrid scent. His hands resembled overdone steak and you cringed at the comparison.

You knew the basics of first aid; everyone you worked with took the same introductory class before their first day. CPR, bandaging wounds, checking the airway… Somehow, you didn’t think the basics covered this level of injury.

But everyone else was outside.

It was up to you.

Plastic squealed under your legs as you shifted to kneel by his head. Foamy blobs dotted the mat where you’d sprayed, but there was enough clear space to position Ken without touching the harsh chemicals. A soft moan slipped through his lips as you moved him, despite your best efforts to keep him comfortable.

_What now? What do I do next?_

His raspy breathing didn’t bode well. Probably inhaled too much smoke, the idiot. You pursed your lips and scanned the room, blocking out the foul aroma as you searched for the familiar red cube present in every communal room of the facility. Maybe you’d get lucky, maybe it would have step-by-step instructions on how to treat a burn.

_Since when has luck been on my side?_

By the time you returned to Ken with the first aid kit in hand, soft grunts of agony accompanied his every exhale. The box opened with little complaint to reveal a hodge-podge of bandages and creams, gloves and tweezers and all manner of useless paraphernalia. How long had it been now? It must be close to the cutoff; _someone_ must’ve noticed your absence by now.

_Doesn’t matter. He can’t wait that long._

You glanced back at the poor man to find his eyes fluttering open. Whimpers of piteous suffering slipped from his cracked lips as he stared at you, panic taking over as the pain set in. No time to waste.

_As if there ever is._

“Hey, hey! Ken, it’s gonna be okay!”

His desecrated arms rose as if to fend off an attack, held defensively between you and him. The huff of his breathing quickened into harsh pants, interrupted by a cough every few seconds. If he didn’t calm down, he risked going into shock. You ignored the alarm bells jangling in your head, the pounding of your heart and the dryness in your mouth. Emotions were useless in emergencies, compromising judgement and ruining rational thought in even the most well-trained individuals. Panic and fear were more dangerous than any weapon on the planet.

And Ken was succumbing to it, far too quickly. Tears leaked from his dilated eyes, his arms thrashing as he searched for an escape. You waited for an opening and seized his biceps, forcing his arms to still.

“N- no! Not you! _Anyone_ but you!”

Why was he scared of you? After all the energy you invested in gaining his trust, what happened to the fragile bond you’d built?

_This is not the time._

You leaned back, raising your hands into his view in a blatantly submissive pose and you held as still as you could while he calmed. His brows furrowed in a classic expression of confusion, his mouth gaping like a fish. What a waste of time; you still needed to find V.

“I’m here to help. I _know_ it’s hard, but you need to try and stay calm.”

The same tone honed through years of dealing with your father forced its way through your lips. Placating, calm and reassuring. The voice of someone who meant no harm and only wanted to help. The tension on his face eased another fraction; you were on the right track.

But it was taking too long. How many rooms remained unchecked? Five? Ten?

_Too many._

You lowered your hands and surreptitiously retrieved your phone. Time to call for backup. Screw protocol, you needed help. Damn Kotomi…

_“Where the hell are you?!”_

Aaron’s tinny voice answered after a single ring. You ignored the flare of terror on Ken’s face, if he was in his right mind, he’d be thanking you.

“I found Ken, he’s badly burned! I need you to send help.”

_“God damnit! Is Mark with him? Where are you?”_

You shuddered in revulsion at the realization of the nearby corpse’s identity. Poor Mark, he just got married. “In the gym. Mark is… he’s dead.”

_“WHAT!?”_

You flinched away from the speaker. A rapid stream of curses followed Aaron’s shocked cry, but dead was dead. Mark wasn’t your primary concern, or even your secondary. Tertiary, at best.

“Is anyone else still missing?”

_This is already a catastrophe. If V got loose…_

The thought didn’t bear dwelling on. It wasn’t in your control, none of it was. Even after years of education and hard work, you still weren’t holding the reins. Disaster _still_ struck; people _still_ died. Maybe you were wrong, maybe you couldn’t alter fate.

Maybe fighting destiny was a fool’s errand.

_“No, got em all. Hang on a sec.”_

His voice shouted orders, muffled as something covered the microphone. Your shoulders slumped in relief at his words. No other casualties, thank the damned stars. Assuming Ken made it, only one person paid the price today.

You could live with that.

_“Right, I just sent in some EMT’s. Stay where- what the fuck?!”_

“Aaron? What happened? What’s going on?”

Far-off screams echoed through the small speaker. A chill of foreboding toyed across your spine, teasing you with all manner of possible horrors. It wasn’t over.

**\---V---**

He may as well have been a ghost, for all the attention he received. Not that he minded; the solitude allowed him to observe every second of wonderful chaos. The staff focused on others in more immediate need, comforting the criers and calming the panicked. What a delightful display of agony; each face inspired a slough of new ideas in his mind. The next group session couldn’t come fast enough.

Yet one especially tortured face stood out.

Kelly.

He resisted the urge to sneer at her blank expression, as if she simply lacked the capacity to acknowledge reality. Such docility disgusted him. Truly, the woman had no purpose. A wasted life, contributing nothing to society. A leech on severely limited resources. Undeserving of the air in her lungs.

**You could fix that.**

The artist’s lips twisted into a feral smirk, his emerald eyes glittering with glee. What a _lovely_ idea… It had been _so_ long since he indulged himself. Considering the situation, the risk was low. The closest staff member stood over a dozen steps away, struggling to reassure an incoherent young woman.

“Thank you, Vergil.”

He sidled closer to his target until less than a foot of empty air remained between them. She never shifted her eyes, didn’t bother to notice the predator closing in. His fingers itched as static bloomed in his nerves, the small hairs on his arms standing at attention. Some might call his plan a barbaric form of mercy.

He called it mastery.

“Yours is a cruel fate,” he began.

The merest twitch of her shoulders revealed her perception of him. He tracked the movements of the closest orderly, but the fool was still too far away to change anything. Goosebumps erupted on his skin, an anticipatory shiver running up his spine and rattling the loops of metal around his wrists. It’d been so long since he last saw that delightful crimson splash.

The artist licked his lips and continued, choosing his words with the utmost care. “I see your pain. It never gets lighter, does it?”

He paused, letting his seemingly sympathetic words sink in. No need to rush, not with the glaring incompetence of the staff. He could afford to savor the moment.

“The only peace you’ll ever find is in death. I know it. You know it. Even the _doctors_ know it.”

Another pause as Kevin glanced their way, his attention divided between the artist and several others. Buffoon. Images of the man’s imminent death brought coils of heat to the artist’s gut. Long fingers twitched by his groin but a shouted word restrained him.

**Focus!**

Right. Kevin’s turn drew near, but today it was Kelly’s moment to shine.

“This might be the only chance you ever get,” he murmured, injecting every word with his own conviction and belief.

_This may be **my** only chance, as well._

She jolted like she’d been electrocuted. Every change in her posture revealed his success; the slumping shoulders, the bowed head, the trembling legs. Any second now… the only question was how she’d do it.

Kelly’s mournful eyes met his, the normal weariness replaced by resigned acceptance. Her lips curled into a faint smile as she released a deep breath and surrendered.

“Thank you,” was all she said.

Then she crumpled to her knees and slammed her forehead into the pavement.

Shocked gasps echoed from mouths in the vicinity, but the effect was localized. Ripples of awareness would inevitably reach the staff, but not in time to change her fate. The artist smirked and edged away, blending into the bewildered crowd to enjoy the show. He was just a face in a crowd, a bystander to such madness. A fly on the wall.

The thought almost made him laugh.

Kelly lifted her bloody face and cracked it against the asphalt again. Stray droplets of crimson splattered those closest to her, staining their white clothing with beautiful crimson. The contrast was as awe-inspiring as ever, evoking ethereal voices to sing their rapture in his mind. He stepped further into the horde, barely maintaining his view as he neared the outer edge.

“Fuck!”

Kevin. He’d do his best, the fool always did, but nothing could stop Kelly now. She rose once more, grinning wider than ever before. It may have eased the ugliness of her face if not for the shattered teeth, broken nose and scarlet lips.

A final lunge. A sickening crunch, more cast off blood splattering the masses. A hint of grey mixed in as her body went limp, limbs twitching in the last throes of her tortured life just as Kevin skidded to her side.

**Beautiful.**

Horrified screams spoiled the solemn perfection. Perhaps it was for the best, otherwise someone would’ve heard the drawn-out groan vibrating from his lips. He could taste the coppery tang of blood, smell the moment her bowels released. His lids fluttered closed for a single heartbeat to revel in the pulsing joy radiating from his chest down to his cock.

“What the _hell_ happened?” someone cried.

“Jesus…” another murmured.

Just to his left, someone lost their lunch and added another facet of visceral truth to the scene. Kevin’s meaty hands wrapped around Kelly’s shoulders and turned her faceup, revealing an image too grotesque to forget. Few among the horde knew what brain matter looked like before, yet now they all possessed the macabre knowledge.

_Well done, Kelly. You had a purpose after all…_

Still. If he’d been directly involved, the final view may have achieved magnificence. As it was, her corpse barely qualified as art. Crude, rushed and desperate. The act of a woman without hope.

But it was enough to bring a hum of satisfaction from his throat and a thrill of joy to his deranged soul.

Several staff members rushed toward the fresh corpse. Patients screamed and cried, lost in their own personal lunacy and delusions. Pandemonium and confusion reigned supreme over the crowd.

**Weaklings. Now is the time.**

A pulse of searing agony accompanied the rumbling voice’s words. He hissed and rubbed at his temples, instinctively trying to ease the pain. A powerful roar followed in its wake as Shadow expressed her displeasure, curses from Vergil and Griffon a beat behind. What new fiend was this, that so eloquently stated the truth?

“Who _are_ you?” he murmured. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to himself now, not when he was so exposed.

**I am Urizen, accursed vessel. **

Foreboding laughter filled his mind as his blood turned to lava, boiling him alive. Stones pelted every inch of his skin and every nerve howled its suffering. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming, yet a muffled whimper slipped through.

And then, in a flash the torturous pain vanished.

For several seconds, V didn’t dare to move. His breath came in sharp pants, a sheen of sweat shimmering on his skin. There was something different about this newcomer, a form of strength he never imagined and was powerless to resist.

Not that he tried very hard.

**Seize the opportunity you created. Let fear not guide your steps, but purpose.**

The artist swallowed, twinges of pain still swirling through his muscles. He knew the voice was right, but what shreds of his conscience that remained screamed for him to stay. A strange thing; that side of him hadn’t made itself known in years. Why it spoke now, he didn’t understand.

No matter. Urizen was right. He must make his move now, before freedom danced from his grasp again. It was a shame you weren’t there with him, but he couldn’t waste the chance Ken so kindly provided.

He did not run; the less attention he drew, the more likely his success. The cuffs chafed at his bony wrists and he clutched the chain connecting them to keep it silent as the shadows of branches welcomed him home. For the first time in months, where he went and what he did was his choice to make.

_I am free._

_But I will return._

**\---Reader---**

Malphas sat in the usual spot at the head of the conference table. Various staff flooded the room, far too many people for the number of seats available. As with most meetings, it was first come first serve so you ended up standing near the door. Not the most powerful position, but it made for a decent view.

“Okay, everyone. Let’s get started. Aaron?” Malphas began.

The head of security stood and sighed. The weight of responsibility colored his voice as he recapped the events of three days past, the ensuing manhunt and emergency medical treatments. By the time he was done, you couldn’t help but count the numerous faces staring at you with anger. It didn’t make any sense, it’s not like you told Ken to murder Mark and start a fire.

Yet somehow, your peers thought something along those lines.

_Assholes._

“Two dead, one escaped and one injured... I don’t need to tell you all how bad this looks.”

Your eyes darted to Kotomi. Her catastrophic failure mystified you; it likely always would. To break down just when people were counting on you to stand tall and keep them safe was unforgivable. What might have happened had she held it together, you’d never know.

_I can damn well guess._

You would’ve made it outside in time to keep an eye on V. He’d still be here and Kevin wouldn’t be blaming himself for the first escaped patient in over fifty years. Maybe Kelly would still be alive, too.

It would’ve changed everything.

“First off, we’re going to review our safety protocols in depth. This _cannot_ happen again,” Malphas broke in.

He paused to meet every eye in the room, the authority of his bug-like gaze driving home how serious he was. 

“Second, Dr. Ishida will no longer be involved with emergency procedures. Would anyone like to volunteer to take over her role?”

Kotomi bowed her head in shame, hiding behind her silken hair as a meager few hands rose. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her pathetic form. Why did she even work here? It clearly didn’t suit her skills or preferences. Curiosity tugged at you, but the time to ask her was long gone.

“Until the inquiry has been resolved, Dr. Waras will be suspended from any activities on site. Dr. Waras’ cases will be reassigned to Dr. Ishida for the time being.”

The hum of the ventilation system faded away as static fizzled in your mind. Someone shifted their weight, another coughed. This couldn’t be happening, you refused to believe it.

_He can’t be serious!_

You’d done everything right, followed protocol to the letter and taken on more than you were supposed to because Kotomi broke under pressure. What happened in the parking lot had nothing to do with you, and Ken never showed any inclinations toward wreaking havoc. How the hell were _you_ taking the fall for this?

“Everyone, stay vigilant. If anything further is required of you, I’ll be in touch.”

As the staff filtered out the door, whispering and averting their eyes from you, pure rage battled for control within you. After all your hard work, all your dedication and sacrifice, they were taking it all away. It didn’t matter if you weren’t found at fault, this would follow you for the rest of your career. If only Kotomi wasn’t such a damned coward, if only she’d done her fucking job...

_How could she do this to me? She could’ve said something to defend me, don’t I deserve that much after listening to her stupid stories?_

Only Malphas and Aaron stayed behind. Kotomi shot a piteous look at you as she left, but you only glared back. Hurt flashed in her pretty eyes and a small flame of victory danced in your chest, but it didn’t matter.

You spoke the moment the door clicked shut. “You _know_ this wasn’t my fault.”

“That remains to be determined,” Aaron replied coolly.

“But what about Kotomi? She was supposed to do half the floor but she left with the patients! _She’s_ the one who failed, not me.”

Malphas pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He looked so old, like he’d aged a decade in the last few days. “Y/N, I’m sorry. Kelly’s family is demanding answers and there’s an uproar in legal. It was your patients who were involved, your patients who died and got injured. I _know_ you did your best, but until I can prove it my hands are tied.”

Even through the sting of your embarrassed rage, you felt sorry for him. Being in charge at a time like this had to suck.

But still.

“Can’t you just stick me with the lower risk patients instead?”

Aaron snorted, crossing his thick arms derisively. “Not a chance. The press would have a field day, not to mention you’d get so bored _you’d_ start the next fire.”

You pursed your lips. He had a point.

“The moment I have an alternative, you’ll know.”

Years of practice helped you stifle the urge to cry and lash out. Nothing good came from emotional outbursts, especially not in the workplace. You had to stay coolheaded and behave.

At the end of the day, the only thing in yourcontrol was yourself.

You took one last look at the flimsy conference table, the plain beige walls and inoffensive wall art. It was funny, even though the fire was on a different floor, you still smelled smoke and burning flesh. It permeated the stale recycled air like perfume, yet only you seemed to notice.

And blood, that metallic scent followed you everywhere. No matter how hard you scrubbed your skin, imagined ichor stained your hands. You couldn’t escape the fragmented reminders.

But to be cast out, like garbage?

_Nothing is more foolish than to expect the world to treat you fairly._

The artist was unhinged, but maybe he had a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo, boy! I have to admit, I wasn't sure if V was going to escape and if Ken was going to survive. In the end it came down to the fact that I'm a little bit bored by the setting and a friend helped me think of a whole new ending. :P
> 
> As always, I am filled with appreciation for you guys reading this, leaving me kudos and dropping a few words in my inbox. I hope you know that it means the world to me. <3
> 
> Next chapter - I mean, V is on the loose. You guys probably already know what's coming, or at least part of it.


	9. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both V and Reader experience their freedom and all the cost that came with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crud, I am so sorry it's been so long! It's been a ridiculously busy month. 
> 
> Quick warnings - murder/gore and a dash of mutilation. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

**\---V---**

Pine needles and loamy earth muffled his hurried steps. Quiet huffs slipped through his parted lips and metal warmed under his fingers as he kept the cuffs still. Somewhere not far behind him, shouts of alarm rang through the trees as staff members hunted him down like cattle.

But he was no one’s prey.

He was the predator.

They used an insipid grid pattern to search; it was child’s play to navigate around their movements. Honestly, how did they expect to find anything when they traipsed about so noisily? Even an imbecile would hear them coming.

It took him less than five minutes to get into position, crouched on a low hanging branch directly in line with the grid. Kelly’s death was a mere appetizer; it was time for the main course. He licked his lips and shifted his weight, eyeing his target as it approached without a clue.

“Section seventeen, clear,” the orderly said, holding a small walkie-talkie to his lips. Not standard issue; it was wise to wait.

_Three… two… one… now!_

The artist dropped onto the unsuspecting fool, the chain of his handcuffs serving as an excellent tool to crush the man’s trachea. He braced his legs on the man’s spine, using all his body weight to force the chain ever deeper, just to be sure. He couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Wet gurgles accompanied his victim’s pathetic clawing, vessels in his eyes popping as his face twisted into a lovely new arrangement of despair. V hummed happily and brought his lips to the dying man’s ear, shivering in delight as he chose the last sentence the man would ever hear.

“You should’ve stayed home today.”

A final gasp and the man went limp, falling forward into the dirt and leaves. A sadly bloodless death, but to be so up close, to feel the final heartbeat… there was no feeling like it.

The artist had total control in those moments.

How much things had changed in the time since school. The man he’d been never would have made it this far. He knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Ignorant and unaware, easily caught off guard and unable to respond quickly in a crisis. _That _man would’ve gotten himself killed months ago.

**This ain’t the time, Van Gogh. Keep moving.**

Griffon was right, he couldn’t tarry. No more distractions, not until he was out of their reach. He made quick work of the man’s pockets, taking the walkie talkie and a protein bar. No key, unfortunately, though that would’ve been far too easy.

The artist narrowed his eyes and chose a direction, darting in a mostly straight line through the trunks and foliage. If he went in the same direction long enough, he was bound to find civilization. Instead, he found the stone wall he glimpsed mere minutes before. Heavy blocks of unknown origin stacked in uneven patterns, pleasing to the eye but not to the touch. His hands slid right off.

“Damnit…”

A subtle roar and soft clatter of crystal echoed from his left. The brush of warm fur under his hands, prowling pawsteps as Shadow came to his aid. Her glowing eyes met his and her tail flicked across his face, her massive claws gouging a path for his hands in the accursed wall.

“Perfect timing,” he murmured, fingers already caressing the fresh crevasse left behind. Much better, plenty of friction now.

A few moments of clumsy scrabbling later and he crouched atop the stones. This was it. Freedom. No more restraints, no more Kevin. No more medication or group therapy sessions where he had to pretend to care about his fellows.

_No more Y/N._

The thought gave him unexpected pause. While he planned to return and have his vengeance, there was no guarantee you would still be there when he did so. He may never see you again if he left. It ached, to imagine a life spent alone.

_It doesn’t matter – you need to move!_

Yet his legs refused to move. What a tragedy, for you to remain blind to all he had to offer. Perhaps he should’ve waited before spurring Ken into action, taken more time to show you his world. You showed so much promise…

A pulse of mind-numbing pain rippled across his flesh. His body was fire, his nerves magma and his blood, acid. The artist doubled over and clutched at his belly but it was too much. Saliva flooded his mouth as his stomach spasmed and reacquainted him with his most recent meal. If it weren’t for the vomit, he surely would’ve screamed and gotten himself caught.

**“Move. Now.”**

The agony faded and he wiped his mouth, searching for the source of the insidious voice. Jade eyes widened as he spotted gnarled feet encased in what might be armor, but the texture wasn’t quite right. It couldn’t be flesh, not in that blueish-black tone.

Ropes of muscle and sinew extended upward, outlandish hooks and spikes here and there. And, was that an _eye?_

The legs moved, stepping closer. Indeed, it was an eye. One of many blinking from the creature’s form in a hideous shade of orange. He’d never seen such a grotesque being, not even in his nightmares.

“Ur… Urizen?” he stuttered.

A clawed hand reached out to him, lifting his chin to meet the creature’s gaze. It’s eyes glowed with malevolent light and the artist shivered, suddenly glad the being was connected to him. As long as Urizen needed him, he was safe from his true cruelty.

**“Indeed. Do as I command and I can end your suffering.”**

An echo of his earlier agony twinged his mind, just enough to drive the point home. A feather’s caress in comparison yet still enough to force his eyes closed and drag a hiss from his throat.

When he opened his lids, Urizen was gone. He took one last look at the facility and turned away. Yes, it was regrettable that he had to leave you behind, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. His conflicted emotions weren’t the focus right now, only his continued movement.

Descending the other side proved far easier than climbing. More trees greeted him, soft grass and pine needles muffling his steps as he jogged away. All he had to do now was put some distance between himself and the facility, and then he’d need to figure out a hiding place. Perhaps a change in attire, and he certainly wasn’t going to leave his hands cuffed forever.

Hours passed in silence as he trekked ever onward. Even his friends remained silent. The stillness soothed him, he rarely had the pleasure of plotting in solitude.

At long last, with the tree’s shadows reaching for him as the sun set, he found it. A road, thankfully empty. If he were spotted now, with hands still cuffed and wearing the standard issue white linens of the facility, he’d end up right back in that accursed room.

Following the asphalt brought him to the edges of a city before the stars were fully visible. Perfect timing, he wouldn’t need to worry as much about passerby if everyone was safely indoors.

_Safely… _

The artist smirked. Now that he roamed the streets, none were truly safe. They’d learn to fear the night and dread the shadows. But first things first.

He ducked into a trash-strewn alley and slammed the walkie-talkie against the bricks, cracking the casing open to expose the circuitry and wiring. Several options confronted his gaze, but he settled for a pair of copper wires and got to work.

Within moments, he regained the ability to stretch his arms in any direction he liked, and he didn’t waste a second in doing so. One should never neglect the simple pleasures.

“C’mere, baby. This’ll work just fine,” said a man’s voice.

V crouched behind a dumpster instantly. A feminine giggle followed the voice, loud and careless footsteps growing closer. Poor lost souls, how unfortunate for them that they chose this alley on this night, when a predator lurked.

More giggles, the soft thud of a body pressed on stone. Rustling cloth and a quiet whimper of need.

_Not yet… a moment more._

The artist shifted his weight and rolled his eyes. If they could just get on with it… How inconsiderate of them to take so long to lose themselves in pleasure.

“Ah! James, please!”

The woman sounded as impatient as he felt. What did they look like? His size, or would he need to find others? Better to be sure. Keeping to the shadows, he peeked around the metal that concealed him.

_Perfect!_

The man faced away, pinning the girl against the bricks and out of view. He looked to be slightly shorter than he, but with a similar build. Cropped hair did nothing to hide his gauged ears and tattooed neck, currently being assaulted by the young woman’s mouth. Her small hands pawed at the man’s leather jacket, pausing only to stroke the bulge between his legs. Muttered curses accompanied her efforts and even in the darkness, his reactive thrusts were obvious.

The two lacked any class whatsoever.

V watched in silence as the two exposed one another’s skin to the pale moonlight. He caught glimpses of the girl’s body, her milky skin and the delightful roundness of her chest. The man at least had good taste, physically speaking. Heat coiled in his gut, his cock a growing stiffness he refused to indulge until the work was done.

The moment he heard them gasp in unison, he made his move. With silent steps he crept behind the man and looped the chain of his cuffs around his neck. He would have preferred a knife, but desperate times…

“What the f-“

A sharp tug and all that remained was a corpse. The girl screamed, yet she was too foolish or terrified to run as her companion fell to the filthy ground. Without his body in the way, her full figure gleamed as if on display just for him. Truly, the universe was kind to provide him all he desired.

“Oh fuck! Oh, shit fuck what the fuck?!” she cried, utterly incoherent. No matter.

He slapped her, his eyes threatening endless horrors if she didn’t silence herself. With his other hand, he brought her shaking fingers to press against his cock, forcing her to stroke him and ease the ache even a fraction. Slowly, her curses and shouts turned to sobs and he smirked. Good enough.

Now, how best to use her? It’d been so long since he had such creative freedom. Perhaps… oh, how perfect.

A small clip held something inside the man’s pocket. The artist hummed and tugged it loose, chuckling as he flicked open the small blade. Could this night get any better? He doubted it.

“On your knees, girl. Right over there,” he ordered, a wicked grin twisting his lips as she obeyed.

He had to admit, she was quite beautiful, yet he would make her even more so. Without his tools, this would be far from his best work, but he’d make do. Images and ideas flowed though his mind and his heart raced in anticipation.

The girl squeaked as he joined her, towering over her huddled body. Silver glinted in his teeth where he held the knife, freeing his hands to explore her quivering body. He traced every curve and valley, planning his desecration. Stomach, thighs, ass, hips, all his to decorate however he pleased.

His fingers crept higher, tracing the roundness of her chest. A soft whimper slipped through her lips and he pinched, hard enough to bruise. Distractions would not be tolerated. She was his canvas; she should be thanking him for all she would become.

“P- please! Let me go!”

Forgetting the blade between his teeth, the artist clicked his tongue and winced as copper flooded his mouth. He took the blade in hand and dipped his other hand into his mouth. Waste not, want not.

“No,” he murmured, and then he traced the first mark on her pristine flesh using his own blood.

Her sobs intensified, broken by begging every few moments. The artist tried to focus through her mewling but the girl simply refused to be silent. He’d have to do something. An unplanned adjustment, but he could make it work.

He pried her stubborn jaws open and carved. He didn’t need to be careful, it’s not like she was going to need any of her mouth to work anyway. Blood flooded the cavity, her throat spasming as he sawed away at her tongue and anything that got in his way. Small, feminine hands scrabbled against his arm but she was far too weak, and he too strong.

Something gave way under his blade, the resistance of seconds ag gone. The girl tried to scream, but only wet gurgling resulted form her efforts. Tears and blood alike smeared her cheeks. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head before releasing her jaw, allowing her to cough up the gristle left behind.

He didn’t give her long.

**\---Reader---**

The inexorable passage of time offered little comfort after your suspension. It still seemed like every minute lasted an hour, and every hour a week. Maddening. 

_How has it only been two days?_

You sighed and took another sip of coffee, settling into your now familiar spot on your couch. Nothing good was ever on cable, but you had nothing better to do. Maybe if you watched enough crappy soap operas they might start appealing to you?

Kotomi only made it worse, with her endless emails about which patient needed what, how to get them to talk to her, blah blah blah. You only gave her the answers because to refuse only tarnished your already bruised reputation. You couldn’t afford to add any more black marks to your record. Perfection was the only route forward.

At first, she tried to be friendly. She mentioned the latest gossip and asked about what you were up to with all the free time. How did she expect you to just ignore what happened? You weren’t going to pretend she hadn’t betrayed you or left you to take the fall for her failure. _And_ she never apologized. Infuriating. 

So much for friendship. Oh well, what use was it anyway? It wasn’t like she’d ever added anything meaningful to your life. Idle chatter, a distraction and the appearance of normalcy. Things only necessary when in a group setting. The outcast always got singled out, you knew from experience. 

But here you were, cast out yet again. 

_And why does it hurt so much?_

You pushed the thought away and changed the channel, might as well see what was happening in the real world. Normally the news bored you to tears, but who knew? Maybe today it would provide some entertainment.

_“Local police still have no suspects for the recent killings downtown. So far, four bodies have been found, two of which missing the heart. It is recommended that you stay in your home after dark until the police have made an arrest, though no official lockdown has been initiated at this time. We’ll continue to bring updates as the story develops.”_

So, V was still in the area. The heart thing was new, his last killing involved a liver and intestines, a kidney if you remembered right. Why the change? What did it mean?

_If only I had my notes from our sessions! I know I could figure this out!_

A far-too-cheerful ding broke your morose thoughts as a new email came in. No doubt more questions from Kotomi. You sighed and stood from your perch, stretching your arms as you padded to your laptop.

Sure enough...

_Hello, Dr. Waras._

_I have a question regarding Jacob Miller’s treatment. Have you had any success with hypnotherapy or suggestion? I thought it may help but if it’s already been tried, there’s not much point. Thanks in advance!_

_Dr. Kotomi Ishida_

Oh, for the love of god... didn’t she read the man’s chart? Your notes were _meticulous_, every treatment method you tried was thoroughly documented. What a waste of your time. 

Still.

You typed a succinct reply stating that yes, you tried that and no, it was _not_ successful in the least. If anything, it made his symptoms _worse_. A quick proofread later and off it went, its destination the one place you wanted to be but weren’t allowed.

Well, surely there were other places you wouldn’t be allowed. Monuments. A private home. Crime scenes.

Another ding, what now? Couldn’t she manage for ten minutes on her own, honestly...

But the sender was unknown, the subject line blank. Spam, probably. The filter wasn’t perfect. Bracing for an ad for men’s growth pills, you clicked on the message. 

_Unknown has invited you to chat! Accept/Decline_

You pursed your lips and glared at the screen. This _had_ to be a joke, and you had absolutely no patience for it. You had enough to deal with without this nonsense. 

_Do I? What **else** have I got to pass the damned time?_

With a resigned sigh, you clicked accept and waited.

You rolled your eyes. Whoever it was, they were a cocky one. A shiver of foreboding trailed down your spine as you stared at the screen. You needed to be careful; without knowing who was on the other side, how would you know what information you could trust them with?

Something about the conversation felt familiar, but you couldn’t place why. You couldn’t deny the thrill at a new puzzle, a new problem to solve, but to be careless spelled disaster. It might be someone from work, trying to see if you’d reveal private info to a friendly stranger. Hell, it could be Malphas.

It didn’t seem like the Malphas you knew, but it seemed you didn’t know him as well as you thought.

Your mind sizzled, whirring faster than it had in days as all the pieces slid into place. Of course. How hadn’t you seen it sooner? Only one person you knew of had the taste for this kind of mind game. With trembling hands you responded, lips pursed and shoulders tense.

Shit. Shit, shit, motherfucking shit. Of all the idiotic, foolish, irrational things he could’ve done, he chose this? To contact you?

Why?

_He’s too smart not to know how risky it is to talk to me. What in the world would make that risk seem worth it to him?_

Possibilities flooded your mind, all the standard things that motivate people. Stupid, he wasn’t like most people, you couldn’t pretend his motivations were the same as anyone else’s. 

_Okay, calm down. Think. Work the problem._

In your sessions, he came to life whenever you discussed art and philosophy. He traded knowledge of his personal life to gain access to the simplest of art supplies. He was curious, intelligent and wily. Not prone to impulsive decisions or taking unnecessary risks. A planner. Not to mention he had a healthy libido, if inappropriate. 

_And an impressive..._

_Stop that._

You rolled your shoulders and hummed, still unsure about his reasoning. Perhaps you could just ask? Perhaps his freedom would make him more open to an honest conversation.

You almost laughed. Of course being direct got you nowhere. Always with the mind games... fine, if he wanted to play, he would lose.

You paused, unsure about his meaning. It felt like you were having two different conversations, about completely unrelated topics. What cage? You weren’t living in a cage. He had to mean something else, something subtle and hidden.

The back of your chair creaked as you leaned back, letting out a deep breath as the thrill of using your mind wore off. How you missed it, solving problems and finding solutions others didn’t dare to imagine. How could Malphas do this to you? He knew your background.

_And he did it anyway. Maybe he doesn’t care._

A growl of frustration rumbled through your chest and you slammed the laptop closed. Enough wallowing, this was getting you nowhere. If talking to V was the best thing to happen to you since getting suspended, something was clearly wrong. Time to take action.

**\---V---**

Full lips twisted into a smirk as he signed off. What a delight, how fortunate he’d come across this place. Such an interesting home, full of surprises. The cat, for example. Currently it sat on his lap, purring madly as he stroked its fur. He didn’t know its name, but it probably didn’t either.

_Now, on to the next task._

“I _still_ say blonde, Van Gogh,” Griffon cawed. He was perched atop the television, his usual spot since taking up residence here.

“And I say brown, it’s the most common and least likely to be noticed,” Vergil chimed in from the massive leather couch.

A muscle in V’s jaw twitched in annoyance. He needed to go out, there was no food left and the locals needed a reminder of his truth. But first, he needed to do something to disguise himself. For a day and a half, he and his friends argued over the best choice, and he was growing impatient.

Shadow flicked her tail at the white walls, her way of casting her vote. She lounged on a plush rug, bathing in the what little sunlight leaked through the venetian blinds.

At least Urizen wasn’t adding to the chaos. He’d never get a word in edgewise.

“Blonde!”

“Brown!”

Flick, growl.

Over and over again. Perhaps he ought to just shave his head and be done with it?

“Blonde! Everybody loves a blonde!”

“Brown, it’s inconspicuous and that’s the main objective!”

Flick, growl, flick.

“Enough!” V shouted, silencing all three at once. “I’ve had it! All you do is argue, and you’ve all missed the obvious!”

Three sets of quizzical eyes stared at him, waiting for an explanation. Instead of speaking, V headed to the bathroom, his friends in tow. He wasn’t sure how they all managed to fit in the tiny room, but somehow it worked out.

Elegant fingers rifled through several drawers before finding what he searched for. He knew there had to be some, the woman had ridiculous hair. No way she didn’t have some way of managing it.

“Wait, are you _really_ gonna cut it?” Griffon prodded.

He didn’t want to. Having his hair like this was Nero’s idea, and he had far too little left of his friend. It took a year to grow it out and another year for him to get used to having a curtain of black blocking half his vision, but he honestly liked it now.

But every picture on the news of him featured him with long hair, draped over his face. This was the simplest way to change his appearance, there could be no argument. And hair grows back, eventually.

He raised the scissors high and prepared to make the first snip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heehee... I'm sorry, I had to do it! You guys know how much I love leaving you hanging. My extremely talented friend made a peice of art that partially inspired this chapter, thank you again Cheesysquidarts! Check it out - https://cheesysquidarts.tumblr.com/post/189297072267/surprise-im-kinda-back-a-little-sketch-i-made
> 
> I would love some feedback on the chat aspect of this chapter. I promise this isn't turning into a chat fic, but I'm curious if you guys thought it was too chopped up or any other thoughts. I made gmail accounts and used Google Hangouts to make the chat, it's basically all edited screen captures. 
> 
> As always, you have my undying gratitude for reading, leaving kudos, and leaving me a few words. Thank you so much for sticking with this story throughout all the sporadic updates. It means the world to me <3
> 
> Next chapter - We see what V did to his hair, and what is Reader up to?


	10. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader takes action and receives unexpected guests. V sends a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends! I hope everyone's holidays are off to a wonderful start. Mild gore warning, but y'all have seen worse in this fic. Enjoy!

Within twenty minutes, you had your ancient beater of a car parked in your usual spot. Normally a coffee cup and a few wrappers littered the passenger side, but lately you’d had the time to clean it out. The damn thing clattered every time you took a sharp turn and the windshield featured a widening crack, but it got you from point A to B and that was all you really cared about. 

Well, that and the sound system. It drowned out the clatter, after all.

Cold stone walls loomed over you, but their shadows were far from the unfriendliest thing you’d encounter here. You sighed and faced the music, locking your car with a deceptively cheerful chirp.

Even after only two days away, the facility seemed foreign as you entered the lobby. The smell of antiseptic that you almost never noticed overwhelmed you, the overly bright fluorescents blinding overhead. Was it  _ always  _ this bright? How hadn’t you noticed? Ridiculous, you should’ve worn your sunglasses.

“Dr. Waras! What are you doing here?” cried a familiar voice behind the glass panel hiding the counter. Sandy hair and brown eyes set in a face the female patients couldn’t get enough of. You approached with a smile.

“Hi, Rob. I’d like to speak with Malphas, is he in?”

“Yeah, I think so. I… I’ll have to escort you, I’m sorry,” the young man said, eyes shifting away. 

Indignant heat pooled in your cheeks. How absurd. You  _ worked  _ here, this was your  _ home! _ A babysitter only added insult to the already painful injury. 

_ Calm down, it’s not his fault. _

You paused to swallow your anger and offered an understanding nod. “That’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“It’ll be just a sec, gotta have someone take over.”

You sighed and turned away, heading for one of the pastel armchairs dotted around the room. Outdated magazines lined tables here and there, a water cooler gurgling happily in the corner. Landscape paintings covered sections of the horrible plaster, as if seeing a grassy meadow might ease the discomfort of being here. A waiting area like any other, but one you hadn’t been forced to wait in since interviewing for your position.

Never one to sit idle, you pulled out your phone and settled into an open seat. It wasn’t like you had a reason to check it, but the slim device brought comfort. Plus, as long as you looked busy, people wouldn’t bother you. 

Hopefully.

It was a slow day, only a pair of brown-haired girls sitting nearby. One was crying, but besides that they seemed normal enough and you put them out of your mind. 

After a few minutes of mindless scrolling, Rob came to fetch you with another apology. He led you through the first security gate and down the long hallway toward the administrative wing. By the time you reached the second gate, the uncomfortable mood became too much.

“How’s Ken doing?” you asked.

Rob shot a hesitant look your way. “Uh, I’m not sure if it’s okay for me to tell you…”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t blame him. “Of course. I’ll ask Malphas, then.”

The rest of the journey passed in awkward silence. Rob was a kind man, you had no complaints about him aside from his lack of courage. Not that you held it against him, after his years of running intake. Poor man saw the worst of the worst, the patients before any treatment. When they were at their lowest and most agitated point.

Finally, the heavy oak door to Malphas’ office greeted your hungry gaze. Closed,oddly enough. He liked keeping it open most of the time. Some nonsense about encouraging everyone to stop by and chat.

Rob knocked on the door and sent another worried look your way as a deep voice called for him to enter. 

“I’ll wait here, to escort you back out. I uh, I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it,” you replied, pushing the door open without a pause. Might as well get it over with.

“Dr. Waras! What an unexpected pleasure. You should've called,” the grandfatherly head of the facility greeted with a hesitant smile. 

_ He doesn’t seem pleased to see me.  _

You stepped inside and clicked the door closed, bracing for a battle of wits as you took a seat across from his desk. Maybe you should've stayed standing, sitting put you in a position of subservience. 

_ If I stand up now, it just looks like indecision. Damnit. _

“What can I do for you?”

Pushing aside your doubts, you met his gaze with a firm stare. “I’d like to know if you’ve made any progress on reversing my suspension.”

Malphas glanced away, as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. Not a good sign.

“Well, it’s become considerably more complex since the patient has begun terrorizing the city.”

You snorted and crossed your arms. True, no one who knew the murderous artist could doubt his involvement, but what proof did they have? 

“Bullshit. There’s no way to prove he’s involved.”

Wrinkled fingers brought the man’s foggy lenses to his tie for a vigorous cleaning as Malphas collected his words. “True, but you know as well as I that when he’s caught, if you’re on the active roster it won’t look good.”

You pursed your lips and tried to keep your voice even as heated anger tinted the overstuffed bookshelves behind his head blood red. Fucking PR bullshit. “So it’s all about appearance, then? Your only reason to keep me out is the press?”

He sighed and returned the glasses to his face, blinking to force his eyes to adjust. You were shaking, barely holding back words of utter rage and frustration. Not good, he wasn’t likely to reinstate you if you came across as an emotional wreck. You needed to rein it in,  _ now. _

_ Change the subject. Something less complicated. _

“Can you at least tell me how Ken is doing?”

Malphas sighed, blinking owlishly at you. “I’m afraid not. Patient details are privileged information, and you aren’t currently affiliated with his care. I cannot share any details with you.”

A small smirk twisted your lips. He revealed enough. “You used the present tense. He’s alive, then.”

Malphas bit his lip and looked away again. Honestly, who did he think he was talking to? The man told you himself that someday he wanted you to take his place. He knew your intelligence, why did he act like he could fool you?

A long moment passed in silence, both you and Malphas searching for the right phrase to move forward. Even with the sting of his actions, the man had your respect. He’d done so much to help you start your career, more than anyone else. You didn’t like being angry with him, or the resentment that built every day he didn’t bring you back. There had to be a way back to the previous state of your relationship.

You released a breath and pinched the bridge of your nose. Conflict was exhausting. “Look, just… what can I do to make this all go faster?”

Malphas’ wizened eyes met yours, tinted with sympathy and understanding. You struggled not to get defensive. You didn’t need his pity, it served no purpose. What you wanted was his agreement. 

“There’s nothing you  _ can  _ do right now. If something changes, I’ll let you know. For now, you just need to be patient.”

_ Fine, this is getting me nowhere. Waste of time. _

“Please do. I look forward to coming back to work.”

The epitome of professionalism, you extended one hand to shake his as you gathered your things to leave. He seemed relieved to see you go, adding another tic in the column towards rage.

Poor Rob led you back to the lobby without a word. You knew you weren’t doing a good job of hiding your emotions, but right then it didn’t matter. It was too much, to have every aspect of your future in the hands of another. 

As if dealing with Malphas wasn’t enough, when you turned the next corner beside Rob, there stood Kotomi. Her heels clicked against the floor, her nose buried in a patient file. Like nothing had changed. Maybe she wouldn’t look up. A single word from her perfectly colored lips and you feared your already tenuous self-control would snap.

“Hi, Dr. Ishida,” Rob said. 

_ God damnit, Rob! _

Her eyes shot up and widened as they landed on your face. The rhythmic tap of her shoes halted as she froze, lowering the still-open file.

“Rob, Dr. Waras… what are you doing here?” she said with a cautious smile. “Are you back?”

With Malphas, you had a damned good reason to keep your cool. He controlled your career, your future. If he perceived you poorly, the consequences were dire. Kotomi was a different story.

“No,” you growled, glaring daggers at her. “Thanks to you.”

Her face fell, tears gathering in her pretty eyes and shoulders slumping as she looked away. Twisted superiority filled you, a strange sense of pride at being able to dismantle her normal cheer so easily. She was pitiful, so weak for just a few words to destroy her so violently. 

The woman clearly didn’t know how to handle conflict - first during the fire, and now today, she somehow made it this far without developing the skills to handle a crisis. Life must’ve treated her tenderly, but that was fine. Karma’s a bitch and you didn’t mind serving as its tool if it meant you could show everyone how useless she was.

You paused at the direction of your thoughts. They echoed a darkness you saw in your patients regularly, a vindictive pleasure derived from others’ pain. 

_ What the hell is wrong with me? Making someone else feel bad shouldn’t make me feel good! _

Before anyone had a chance to react, you turned away and headed for the next security gate, each step faster than the last as if you could outrun your confusion and self-loathing. Rob followed a beat behind, but he had the good sense to keep a respectful distance other than buzzing you through the gates. Smart man.

You couldn’t leave fast enough and paid little attention to the passing beige halls. Harsh words had never been difficult for you to summon, but rarely did you speak them aloud, and never before had doing so brought you such satisfaction. 

_ Where did that come from? _

Somehow you made it back to your car unscathed, without bearing the weight of untold judgemental stares. Practice trained you how to block them out, anyway. 

Yet no defense blocked your own judgement.

Untinted windows did nothing to hide your stricken face as you sat in the parking lot and stifled sobs. This was stupid, Kotomi deserved it! She’d stabbed you in the back and hadn’t bothered to apologize!

And yet… Even  _ if _ she deserved it, that didn’t change the fact that you  _ enjoyed _ tearing her down. You enjoyed watching her smile shatter, her joy wilt into pain. Reveled in the knowledge that you were, in fact, better than her.

_ Am I, though? Am I better? _

A buzz in your pocket broke the cycle of self-hatred as an alert lit the screen of your phone. This better be good, you were in no mood for more bullshit.

_ Oh, for the love of… are you fucking kidding me? _

  


What was the purpose of this conversation? Idle chatter? Who cared if the sunrise was pretty, there were bigger things to worry about.

In a strange sense, it almost made you miss Kotomi. Her chatter never required thought out replies, instead providing a break during which your mind could wander. She helped you fit in, made you feel like less of a freak. Like maybe, _just_ _maybe_, you actually belonged somewhere. You didn’t tell her much about your past, but it’d been nice to have the option. Look at you now, your only companionship offered by a lunatic.

_ Does it make me a lunatic to enjoy our conversations? _

Probably. 

Another choked sob slipped from your lips, the pit of your stomach sinking into the floor mat. Instead of changing the face of medicine, you were a scapegoat. A martyr, sacrificed on the altar of society’s paranoia. You were meant for more than this, you’d spend years building the scaffolding for your success.

_ And for what? _

The lit screen in your hand called out for a response. Dwelling on this black mood didn’t help, you needed to shake it off. Keep moving. Push it aside and focus. You’d been through worse, right?

  


You sighed and wiped the tears from your eyes. It didn’t make any sense to go to an insane murderer for advice, but who else did you have? Everyone you thought was an ally stood within the nearby building, probably laughing at you and cracking jokes about your suspension. 

Who could blame you for turning to the one person who cared enough to ask something as mundane as if you’d seen the damned sunrise? Besides, who would he possibly tell your secrets to? 

  


You sniffled and a twisted note of laughter slipped from your lips. It was nice, for someone to take your side and not blame the entire fiasco on you. A rare luxury, having a friend.

Even if he was a murderous psychopath.

  


You stared at the words for a full minute, stunned beyond coherent thought at his offer. If you were chatting with anyone else, it might seem like a joke. But with V?

_ He’s dead serious. _

You cringed. Poor choice of words. Talking to V, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down even for an instant. It was foolish to talk to him at all, let along make jokes. Had you seriously just thought of him as a friend? What was  _ wrong _ with you?

_ Get your shit together! _

  


A chill raced down your spine. What was happening to you, to seek solace from him? You’d be better off if you never answered him again.

But somehow, you already knew you would.

**—-V—-**

V sighed happily and leaned back, scratching at his scalp for the hundredth time that morning. The change was necessary, but  _ damn _ did it itch!

“What a fruitful exchange,” he murmured. 

An encouraging sign, that you opened up to him willingly in such a way. It showed a level of trust or desperation he hadn’t been aware of. He didn’t care which; either suited his plans.

As long as you came to rely on him, the reasons didn’t matter.

Still. Someone had hurt you. A female, one whom you worked with. A fellow doctor, perhaps?

_ No… _

A wicked grin twisted his lips. Of course, the Asian woman from his painting. How perfect, he already longed to skin her alive. Now, perhaps you’d join him in doing so.

The image sent heat rushing to his core, the first flickers of lust stirring in his gut. With the right provocation, no doubt you’d fall into his grasp with a smile. 

He couldn’t wait.

Long fingers slid under knitted fabric to scratch his scalp yet again. Perhaps a haircut would’ve been easier, he truly despised wearing hats. They made his head too warm and he’d yet to find one that didn’t make him itch as if ants crawled between the obsidian strands still tickling at his neck.

“Stop scratching, you’ll only make it worse,” Vergil commented. The artist shot a glare at the pale-haired man and scratched just a bit more. He’d satisfy any urge he pleased and none of his friends could stop him.

“You look good, Van Gogh. Very edgy,” Griffon added. 

With an annoyed growl, V tore the beanie from his head and threw it at the damned demonic bird. The scrap of black fabric sailed through the air and landed harmlessly, six feet from Griffon’s perch on the television, sending both man and bird into hysterical laughter.

Well, Griffon’s laughter was hysterical. Vergil’s was more of a dry chuckle.

“You’re both insufferable,” he muttered. All their teasing made his fingers tingle with need, visions of red plastered on the walls of his mind. Time to go out and leave another message for you. Maybe you’d notice this one.

**\---Reader---**

The next morning dawned cold and bright, the winter sun shining through the thin curtains covering your bedroom window. Even with the heater on, a chill teased at your toes and fingers as you huddled in the mound of blankets. What time was it, were you late or-

_ Oh. _

And there it was, that heavy stone that now resided in your chest. You groaned and tugged the quilt over your face, hiding from the world in a futile attempt to return to ignorance. Maybe you could just stay in bed all day, why bother getting up? Not like you had anywhere to be.

But your bladder had other ideas, and moments later the icy wooden floor dragged a hiss from your lips. If only you could use the toilet without surrendering the blankets… 

You did your business quickly and headed to the kitchen. Hot coffee might help, and you’d need to check your email at some point. Malphas might have news.

_ And V might want to chat… _

A sharp knock on the door pulled your focus away from the coffee machine before you could ponder the thought. You weren’t expecting company, who in the world would show up unannounced?

You added three healthy scoops of brown powder and closed the lid, pressing the button to start brewing. Only once the telltale sound of water heating reached your ears did you approach the door, peeking through the eye hole to get a preview.

You froze, the breath escaping you at the sight of blue uniforms. 

_ Cops?! V, what did you do? _

Possibilities raced through your mind. How much did they know? Would it be foolish to try denying any wrongdoing? Maybe you should run, go into hiding. At the very least, you might avoid prison. 

_ No, don’t be stupid. _

You pursed your lips and forced your trembling hands to unlock the door. No point trying to escape the inevitable. Whatever they wanted with you, you weren’t going to hide from it. 

“Can I help you?”

Two blue-clad figures stood in the dim hallway. Kind faces, non-threatening posture. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? Fuck.

“Good morning. Are you Y/N Waras?” the larger figure asked.

A man, tall and broad shouldered. The uniform did nothing to hide his powerful physique, nor did it conceal his dominant posture. White hair brushed at the collar of his light blue shirt, perhaps a past trauma shocked him enough to change it? You’d heard of the phenomenon but never seen it.

“Yes, I am. What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, you’re gonna have to come with us,” the shorter figure replied with a southern drawl.

Still quite tall compared to most, the young woman had a spray of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks under a pair of stylish glasses. Bouncy brown curls gathered at the back of her head in a messy ponytail, and hints of tattoos teased at the edge of her sleeves. 

The man shot her a look. “Don’t be rude, Nico. I’m Officer Tony Redgrave, this is Officer Nicoletta Goldstein. We can talk inside if you prefer, Doctor.”

_ So I’m not under arrest? What the hell is going on? _

“Of course, come in. It’s a bit of a mess,” you commented, widening the gap so the two strange people could enter. “I’ll get some coffee for you.”

As the two officers settled in at your small dining table, you busied your clammy hands with preparing three fresh mugs of the bitter fluid, grabbing the sugar and cream as you brought the drinks out. Having a task always helped calm your nerves, and by the time the two muttered a thank you the worst of the anxiety had faded. 

“So… what’s this about?” you asked as you joined them, your own mug in hand.

The two exchanged a look, the man shrugging and leaning back to take a sip of his coffee. A clear indication of seniority, for him to grant permission for her to speak. 

“Well you know ‘bout the murders, right?”

You almost laughed. “Of course.”

“And you  _ gotta  _ know the leading suspect is the escapee,” she continued without pausing for an answer.

“V.”

“That’s the one. We thought you might be able to help out, bein’ his doctor and all.”

You sipped your coffee, pondering how to respond. It might seem strange if you refused, especially given your lack of excuses. It wasn’t like you didn’t have time. Damn Malphas, he probably sent them here in the first place. As if suspending you wasn’t enough…

“What sort of help are you looking for, exactly?”

At that, Officer Redgrave leaned forward. Up close, it was easy to see the authority in his expression, the knowledge that what he said would be heard. Arrogant and handsome. A dangerous combination.

“Anything you got, honestly. Insight, patterns, any habits or places he might’ve mentioned during treatment. Couple folks at the station want to bring you in as a full-blown consultant, but that takes a  _ lot  _ of paperwork.”

Another sip, bitter fluid masking the nerves dancing through your body. You couldn’t deny it sounded interesting. Who knew what you might learn about your favorite patient? Would they give you access to their files, to the crime scenes? 

Shivers raced down your spine. 

_ What if they find out I’ve been in contact with him? I’d be an accessory, at the very least.  _

But the easiest way to make sure they didn’t find out was to know what they were doing. You folded your hands on the table and forced your voice to be steady, swallowing your fears as you spoke.

“I’ll need to see a warrant, just to establish the legality of my cooperation. After that, I’m at your disposal.”

No more boredom, no more endless hours watching stupid TV you didn’t care about. Something to do, at last. Yet the risks couldn’t be ignored. You’d need to be careful.

“Got it right here, they mentioned you played by the book,” the man said, pulling a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and handing it to you for inspection.

Indeed, a warrant for any and all files or information regarding V. 

_ All? So… I’d be breaking the law if I kept his sketch of me hidden.  _

Internally, you panicked at the realization. All your careful little lies crumbling to dust around you. By this time next month, maybe you’d already be in prison. At the very least, you’d probably lose your medical license by then. Ten years, wasted. Everything you worked so hard to achieve, sacrificed so much to gain, gone.

_ Not yet. There’s still a chance. _

“Everything seems to be in order. How should I begin?” you replied carefully, schooling your face into neutrality. 

The young woman tapped at her phone for a moment as the man waited, drumming his fingers on the table and sending an apologetic glance your way. You didn’t mind, the delay gave you more time to think, time to plot your next move. 

You. Plotting. Ugh.

“Here it is, take a look. This photo was taken at the last crime scene,” the young brunette said, holding out the slim device for your perusal. 

Red, red everywhere. An ocean of it, covering all manner of common household furniture. You zoomed in and gasped, spotting the first limb arranged on the table. A hand, feminine and dainty. Fingers curled to mirror the hand beside it, forming a twisted heart shape. 

_ What was… _

_ Oh _ . 

Through the hands, a particularly gruesome image met your eyes. An armless couple, sitting on a couch drenched in their own blood. Judging by their agonized expressions, he’d severed the limbs while they were still alive. Probably where all the blood came from. A dark void lied in each chest, right where the heart sits. In their laps, the organ in question. If you remembered basic anatomy right, the man held the woman’s heart, and vice versa.

You cleared your throat, pursing your lips as you handed back the phone. “How long ago was that?”

“Call came in at six thirty seven this morning, right at sunrise.”

_ Holy… is  _ ** _that _ ** _ why he asked if I saw the sunrise?! _

A typhoon of conflicting emotions swirled within you. Confusion, disgust, curiosity, revulsion… chaos.

What a strange duality, to both be horrified by what he created as well as understand his reasons for creating it, at least partially. The image held a macabre sort of appeal, like a sculpture in a garden. If the man didn’t use human bodies as his medium, no doubt he’d be critically acclaimed. What a waste.

“So, Doctor… any thoughts?” Officer Redgrave asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well… it does seem like his work,” you began slowly. This was extremely dangerous ground, you had to tread carefully or you’d be ruined. “It’s tough to gain any new insight on such a small screen, but in our sessions V was always focused on the  _ meaning  _ of his work. He never created something without a deeper message. I think if you find that message, you might find _ him.” _

That seemed safe. Something relatively obvious, no new information for them to misuse or misinterpret. But was it enough?

“So, you need to see it in person?” he asked.

_ God damn it. _

“I may be able to offer more insight, yes,” you replied carefully, handing Officer Nicoletta her phone back. 

The two officers shared a look, one you didn’t catch the meaning of. What an odd pair they made, hopefully you could use that to your advantage. 

“I’ll get the paperwork started when we get back,” the woman said with a flash of resignation. Poor girl, doing all the grunt work…

“It’ll take a day or two, but we’ll be in touch. Heh, don’t leave town,” Tony said with a smirk.

The young woman rolled her eyes and stood, extending a hand to shake yours. “Don’t mind him, he’s just like that.”

“What? Saying stuff like that’s the best part of the job!” he exclaimed. 

It was almost enough to make you laugh. Almost. 

Not until the door closed on their retreating backs did you dare to breathe, allowing your true emotions to show at last. You wondered what it might be like, living without a mask. To not hide yourself away and portray the person others expected you to be. Would it be easier, or more difficult? 

It didn’t matter. This was the life you had, there was no changing that. You simply needed to make the best of it, keep moving forward. What was the saying, when you’re going through Hell, keep going?

No, Hell was for children. This was just life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bwahahahaha, you thought I was going to cut his hair! XD (Legit though, I considered way too many styles/colors before this came to mind)
> 
> As always, you have my gratitude for reading, leaving a kudos and sharing your thoughts with me. You guys are amazing!
> 
> Next chapter - Reader digs deeper into V's past


	11. On Endings and Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V takes down his next target and remembers the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! It's good to be back after the holidays, I hope you're all ready for some darkness and angst. 
> 
> ******TRIGGER WARNING - School shooting (adult students)********
> 
> Enjoy!

Michael smirked, putting extra emphasis into his stride as he walked past a particularly attractive woman in a stylish pencil skirt. The business district was so much fun to wander in, so many professional looking ladies dying to play secretary. They’d do anything not to get fired; he loved that line.

Was she looking? If she wasn’t, she was missing out. He made it a point not to make eye contact; that was a novice mistake. Never let them know you’re interested, that was rule numero uno.

She _ had _to be looking. He was a catch; the hours he spent every day in the gym made sure of that. The carefully styled hair and overly tight shirt dialed it up to eleven, and his perfectly straight teeth to a twelve. No woman alive wouldn’t see him.

_ That’s right, baby. You _ ** _wish _ ** _ you were hot enough to catch my eye… _

Even from just a glance, he knew she was a seven, max. Nothing special, maybe a solid Tuesday lay if he felt like it. Too bad for her it was Saturday.

He kept going, strutting across gradually less crowded intersections like he owned the entire city. This was his palace; he was king, and the world was his for the taking. He’d _ earned _it. The world owed him his due.

Michael was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the slim shadow that followed in his wake.

_ Almost there, what’s her name again? Jenna? Jane? Something with a J… _

He almost pulled out his phone to check, but nothing undermined a woman’s confidence quite like being called by the wrong name. Even if he got it wrong, it’d only help him get laid. Chicks were so predictable. All you had to do was make them feel the need to prove themselves, then they were putty.

A sudden cold pressure on the back of his neck stopped him in his tracks. The click that followed froze the blood in his veins. It was a sound he’d only heard in movies and TV, but unmistakable. Who the _ fuck _ would pull a gun in broad daylight? On _ him, _no less?

“Move and you die,” a silky voice said. “Muscles aren’t bulletproof.”

The pressure moved, sliding down his spine to settle at his waist. He tried to look back, but a disapproving tut warned him before he spotted anything useful. What the hell did this asshat want, anyway? Phone? Wallet? Dating advice?

“Turn left here,” the voice commanded. He didn’t recognize it. 

Maybe he could disarm the guy? It sounded like a guy. Probably a loser, some shrimp that needed a weapon to make a move. All he had to do was remind him of the natural order, then he could get to his date, with a thrilling new story to impress whats-her-name with.

“Who the _ fuck _do you think you are?” Michael asked.

A searing heat flashed between his ribs. Pain reminiscent of tearing a muscle erupted in his core and his bravado hiccupped. Something wet made his shirt stick to his skin, and as he looked down to see a growing red stain, the young man gagged. He _ hated _blood. 

“I used to be like you, you know. Foolish and naive, never imagining myself in peril,” the sinister voice commented. “Turn right.”

Michael obeyed, his hands busy staunching the fresh wound. The area wasn’t one he knew, full of derelict apartment buildings and shady-looking shops with newspaper covered windows. Chain-link fence lined the sidewalk, occasionally broken by a gap of unknown origin. Half the streetlights were burned out and a smell of cigarettes and sweat spoiled the air. Nothing good happened in a place like this. 

“W- what do you want from me?”

The figure behind him replied by increasing the pressure of the barrel against his spine. Michael quickened his steps and tried to ignore the trail of crimson dripping from his side. If he didn’t see it, it couldn’t hurt him. No pain no gain. Ignore the pain, focus on the gain.

“That all changed in a single afternoon.”

_ What the hell is he talking about?! _

Without knowing who his tormenter was, Michael couldn’t even begin to guess. All he had to go on was the haunting regret dripping from the man’s words. 

“I don’t understand,” he replied quietly. A soft hum met his ears, another prod of the barrel guiding him toward a gravel path.

“You needn’t worry. You won’t live long enough for it to matter.”

The anxiety of moments ago seemed like a passing shadow compared to the pitch black, mind-numbing terror that filled him now. He was going to die. The guy basically just said it. 

_ This can’t be happening! Not to me! _

There had to be something he could do, some way he could get out of this. He’d talked his way out of trouble before. Talking was his specialty, second only to fucking. He just needed to find the right words and everything would be fine. Maybe he’d even get a sexy scar on his back from the…

_ Don’t think about it! _

“That day opened my eyes to the truth, just as I shall open hers. Through there.”

At the end of the gravel walkway stood a small house, as poorly maintained as the other structures nearby. Metal bars covered the only visible window and the door featured three locks, yet all of them were open. Michael hated how his hand trembled when he pulled the door open. He was _ supposed _ to be stronger than this.

_ Get it together! C’mon! _

Inside, a gloomy living room awaited the two men. A faded grey couch sat opposite a small television, empty beer cans and paper plates covering the rickety coffee table. A movie poster from a decade past was the only decoration. Any other time, Michael would have sneered at the slovenly abode, but not today.

“Welcome, my canvas,” the voice said.

A heartbeat later, agony flared across his consciousness. The same blade that stabbed him before now sawed through his flesh and ripped through his spinal cord, the angle perfect to slide the slim metal between his vertebrae. Fluid gushed onto the floor as his legs crumpled, numbness more intense and horrifying than any he’d experienced taking over the nerves below the madman’s wound. 

_ I can’t feel my legs! _

Michael screamed as his face struck the hard floor. More pain, in his cheekbone and eye socket this time. Worse than when he fractured his collarbone trying to deadlift his cousin, but that was the least of his worries now.

He tried to shift his legs, but nothing happened. Icy dread coiled in his stomach, growing with every second he failed to move. How was he supposed to get away now? _ Crawl? _

“P- please!”

His arms still obeyed his commands and he managed to roll over, getting his first look at the monster that planned to take his life. Michael focused on him instead of the pool of viscous red under his body. A small figure, dressed like an idiot teenager at a skate park. Black hair peeked from the hem of a beanie, shadowed green eyes and a smirk that would shake even the bravest of souls beneath. 

Michael’s eyes traced the figure’s arms down to the weapon that forced him to cooperate and he cursed. What he had assumed was a lethal firearm was, in fact, a harmless felt-tipped pen. 

_ What the fuck?! _

“Not my usual tool, but acceptable,” the man said, clicking the cap on and off a few times just to show off how stupid he’d been. 

Why hadn’t he attacked when he had the chance? What was _ wrong _ with him, to meekly surrender and let this… this… _ devil _ lead him wherever he pleased? He should’ve at least _ tried! _

“Ah, yes! Thank you, Vergil. I’d almost forgotten,” the man said. Who the fuck was Vergil? Was this guy bonkers?

The man turned away to flick on the television, straight into a film full of blood and screaming victims. He turned up the volume, then returned to his victim’s side with a sly grin.

“Each night this week, I increased the volume a little more. The neighbors are used to the screaming now. Make all the noise you wish.”

He tried to scramble away, but without the use of his legs he didn’t get far before the madman caught up. The first tears he’d shed in years leaked from his eyes as the blade struck once more, sinking deep into his shoulder and twisting. When the tip scraped against his shoulder blade, Michael’s last shred of stubborn resistance abandoned him and he released a jagged wail of agony.

“Yes, I suppose I ought to…” the man murmured once his cries faded. 

He howled again as a boot-clad foot stomped on his forearm. The bone snapped and hot blood gushed from the hole it punched through his carefully sculpted musculature. All that work, and for what?

_ I’m gonna be sick! _

The film’s screaming and his own retching mixed together as the first wave of agony lost its bite. Adrenaline was a beautiful thing, to dull away the worst of it, but enough remained to draw forth increasingly emasculating sounds. Pathetic. 

Something pulled at his waist and before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, Michael looked down to find the cause. 

The man was slicing off his calves. He didn’t feel any pain from it, only the pressure when the last few strands of sinew snapped away. A small blessing, wrapped in the horror or his own paralysis. Sour bile flooded his mouth at the sight of his body being pulled apart and the coppery smell of blood, another helping of vomit spilling out to mix with the precious fluid. 

“Hmm, yes. That one next, I think,” the man said. Michael barely noticed; his mind was elsewhere.

Silver flashed. Volcanic agony erupted in its wake as the madman hacked off his bicep. Michael screamed again, louder than before as he felt every shredded cell split, but the film drowned him out. None would hear his cries. 

The void where his flesh once rested wept crimson. His arm felt limp, as if he’d just finished a long work out. Pain choked him, the severed nerves wailing their protest as if it might somehow save him. Michael closed his eyes, mentally begging for unconsciousness to claim him. Anything to escape this hell.

“This moment is all we have together, don’t spoil it by closing your eyes…”

The blade whistled through the air, lithe fingers grasping each eyelid in turn as metal split the thin tissue apart. His eyes burned, red soaking his vision yet not enough to make him blind to the grin on his tormenter’s face. Never had he seen such a cruel image.

Tears and blood alike dribbled down his cheeks. He thought he knew pain, thought he understood the way the human body was put together. How much strain the muscles could handle before they broke down, only to grow back stronger than before.

But there was no “growing back” from this. 

The madman hummed a cheerful tune as he pulled apart Michael’s meticulously toned body. Chunks of meat and sinew slapped wetly in a pile, for what purpose he didn’t have the focus to imagine. How much longer before it was too much? How many more times would his heart beat?

Not enough, yet also too many.

_ Please, please, _ ** _please_ ** _ make it stop! Just kill me! _

The next time the blade struck bone, Michael lost control of his bladder. As it dug against his collarbone and scraped away all he was, his mind snapped. White-hot terror and pain overwhelmed him, he had nowhere to hide from it and there was no end in sight. He drowned in agony so powerful each second felt like an eternity.

Somewhere far away, voices screamed a poor imitation of his torture as his own voice gave out. All Michael could manage now were dull whimpers.

And then, even that freedom was stolen from him as the ghoul carved his jaw open to remove his tongue. Another wet slap as he tossed it into the pile with the rest. How the _ fuck _was he still conscious? 

“I must say, you have impressive endurance.”

Michael gurgled, mangled jowls flapping. His vision blurred, darkness leaking in around the edges. Was it time? Was it _ finally _ over? 

_ Please, god, just let me die… _

“It seems our time together is at an end. How unfortunate, I was having _ such _fun.”

Michael’s vision narrowed, the final curtain call of his life passing by. He didn’t resist it, instead mentally racing toward oblivion with all he had left. Whatever awaited him on the other side had to be better than this. Death was the only way out.

Twisted laughter heralded his release, a final flash of metal as the artist sliced open his neck. At last, blessed peace…

**\---V---**

The artist cackled and leaned closer, staring deep into the boy’s mutilated eyes as the last glimmers of life left them. He’d never understand why others killed from a distance; there was no greater power on earth than watching another being die and knowing he made it happen. That moment, that last soft sigh as their spirit broke free…

He found it beautiful.

People revealed their true selves as they died. Their fear, their hopes and dreams, everything they valued was on full display for him. In a way, he knew his victims better than anyone else ever could. In some cases, they also knew him. 

But _ this _one…

He hadn’t lied. The boy reminded him of his younger self, before Nero’s death and all that came with it. Back when he saw the world with wonder and hope, when he’d never seen the color of blood when it gushes from an open chest cavity.

The pen he’d used to trick his target sounded nothing like a gun; the boy simply didn’t know what one sounded like. It was a lucky guess that such a fool didn’t have prior exposure to such things, but it paid off. 

Still.

_ “Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction?” _

The words of William Blake and the true sound of gunfire echoed in his mind as he carved the corpse like a Thanksgiving turkey. The panic, the confusion and shock when it first broke out, the look of resolve on his best friend’s face. Like a film he’d seen too many times, his mind held each frame in his memory forevermore. 

_ “Get down!” _

_ Nero… _

He forced himself to relive it all. Those three minutes of anguish taught him more about the nature of life than his prior two decades of comfort. It seemed longer at the time; only later did he learn the true duration of his trauma. 

No. Not his _ trauma _. 

His _ failure _.

_ “V, what the hell?! Get down!” _

He remembered the thud of the lecturer's heavy tome slamming onto the floor, Blake’s words soon to be soaked in the blood of the innocent. Dozens of voices screaming. Gunfire. Doors slamming open. Bodies hitting the floor. 

He remembered smelling the coppery tang of blood in the air for the first time, tinged with piss and panic. Vomit and someone’s leftover French fries. Gunpowder, too; the same smell as New Year’s Eve. 

He remembered feeling the pressure to move and how his legs refused to obey. The way his hands trembled as he stared at what would surely end his life. A warm, heavy weight crashing into his chest and knocking him to the ground.

Nero.

Whispered words and the splash of scarlet across his face when Nero coughed. 

_ “Play dead and… take care of her…” _

The light fading from his crystal blue eyes.

Tears spilling from his own.

The artist cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. Yes, it was good to remember. It reminded him of why he needed to keep going, why the blood must continue to flow. The reason for his existence. Never could he allow himself to forget – to do so would dishonor his friend. After everything Nero did for him, V owed him this much.

He remembered the empty words of others afterward, the crushing vice that held his heart captive. The weight that bent his shoulders in grief. His family, hesitant and unsure how to restore his previously carefree spirit. His teachers, the pity and discomfort in their eyes whenever they spotted him in class.

He remembered the announcement of the memorial and Professor Marx, asking him to participate. The now-familiar voice of Vergil in his mind urging him to do it, if only to maintain appearances. The gentle scrape of his brush against canvas and the tightness of his throat with each added stroke. The duality of being both numb and feeling far too much all at once.

He remembered her face, swollen and red as she declared him the reason for her fiance’s death. His shame as he accepted her words. How could he argue? She was right, after all. Going to the Blake recitation was his idea. A second, more gravelly voice in his mind, calling her obscene names and giving shape to his urge to deny responsibility. Griffon.

He remembered the unveiling, all the families gathered together to see his and his classmates’ work. Nero’s family, shell-shocked and angry but without a target. The hush that fell over the crowd as each name was read, far too many. Rustling cloth as the covering fell, and the gasps as grieving families found their murdered loved one’s faces.

He remembered his rage boiling inside him as nothing changed in the months to come. An inferno he couldn’t contain, not with the addition of Shadow’s voice; a wordless roar of crashing fury. The cacophony of all their bickering in his mind, indecision and desperation only making them harder to ignore.

He remembered breaking. The gradual creation of his plan and the sense of purpose that grew from it. The urgency of his new goal and the thrill of being reborn. Leaving home to escape the relentless pity, finding his path and walking it without fear. His fear did nothing to help him. His fear was what got his friend killed.

His fear would never control him again.

He released a shaky breath and closed his eyes. There was still so much to do. Eventually, someone would track the boy’s blood here and discover his latest work; it needed to be ready before then. Perhaps once he finished it, he could honor his friend somehow. Carefully, of course. The locals were still hunting him.

And his work was not yet done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. So I gotta be honest, when I started this story it was meant to be a simple, indulgent smutfest. Somehow, it has become a character study of how people deal with trauma. I am really bad at simplicity. 
> 
> If anyone is interested, I started a Discord server! It's full of wonderful people and everyone is welcome. If you'd like an invite, shoot me an email at fanfiction.nut@yahoo.com or send me a message/ask on my tumblr at https://keeroo92.tumblr.com/
> 
> As always, thank you so much for joining me on this wild ride, leaving kudos and sharing your thoughts. I absolutely love this community and if you're new to it, I'm happy to make fic recommendations. You guys are superstars!
> 
> Next chapter - V and Reader reunite, and sparks fly.


	12. The Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V and Reader reunite, and sparks fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray, another chapter! Quick warning for Rape/non-con and NSFW scenes :3
> 
> I also wanted to thank Squiddywritesstuffs for being my beta reader and helping me brainstorm. You are truly a fantastic friend and I appreciate your help so much <3
> 
> Enjoy!

The exhibit featured reproductions of some of his favorites. The Blinding of Samson, Saturn Devouring His Son, Judith Beheading Holofernes, and several others. He kept his head tilted low, avoiding the cameras entirely where he could as he made his way deeper into the museum. While the other pieces were sublime, he was here for one reason only.

The murderous artist hid his tattooed hands in his pockets as he entered the room of his target, a small alcove off the main hall of artwork. Not many of the visitors bothered to view this piece, since no well-known names were attached to its creation, and it didn’t merit a large viewing area. Security for it was abysmal, to boot. 

Still, he waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. This was private, not for anyone else to witness. Even his friends remained silent as he approached the wall where the canvas hung, barely two inches to spare on either side.

It always stole his breath to see it. A field of flowers on a mountainside, crimson petals a blanket under the feet of those gathered there. The figures all faced slightly away, so just a profile was visible. The composition hinted at the unreachable, that this group was somehow separate from the viewer. That they existed somewhere most people would never reach.

He recognized two or three faces, but only one mattered to his twisted heart.

Nero.

His friend stood on the edge of the field, a forlorn look on his face as his crystal-blue eyes gazed at the sky. Seeing his face again, even just his own meager attempts to capture it, brought the familiar tightness to his chest and throat. He remembered every stroke of the paintbrush as he crafted his friend’s likeness. 

_All for this pale imitation of his kindness..._

A rhythmic click broke his thoughts; footsteps. Who could say whose feet they belonged to? He needed to conceal himself, _now_. Whoever dared to interrupt him would pay the price.

The artist dipped into the shadows, choosing the corner he deemed most likely to be ignored by anyone viewing the artwork. The blade in his pocket greeted his fingertips like a lover, the same blade he used to craft his latest work. It sent a thrilling pulse of adrenaline through him to imagine what he might create here, in the same halls that held such classic works. Perhaps they’d inspire him?

A slim figure entered the room as he raised the blade. Female, with a pleasing shape. Lovely hair, and-

_Wait…_

_Is that…?_

It _couldn’t_ be you, what were the odds? In such a vast city, for you to wander across his path was something he never expected. He’d imagined a multitude of ways to draw you out, but for you to simply _appear?_

Yet there was no mistaking that face, those pursed lips and furrowed brow. 

“In Memoriam…” you murmured. “Why does each face… that’s odd.” 

V smirked and slid to the next shadow. What an interesting day this was becoming. Perhaps he could accelerate his plans, take the next step today since fate brought you to him? One must never waste opportunity. He licked his lips and stepped closer, lurking behind you like a bodyguard. 

“Hello, Y/N…” he purred.

Your eyes widened as you turned to face him, lips parting in shock. He’d missed that, how expressive your face was. No matter how hard you tried to mask your feelings, he saw them all. If anything, it became easier each time he saw you.

“V? What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

**\---Reader---**

You’d almost forgotten how the murderous artist’s eyes gleamed, the way his lips curled when he was amused. How damned _tall _he was. The intricacy of his tattoos and the poise with which he carried himself.

_What the fuck?! Is he **trying **to get caught?_

“Now what kind of greeting is that? Come now, doctor. Show some courtesy.”

The madman stepped closer, tilting his head to stare down into your eyes. You’d never stood this close to him before, so close you smelled a hint of musk from his skin. It sent a rush of dizziness through you. You worked with killers on a regular basis, why did this one in particular cause such powerful reactions?

He took another step, now only inches away. Your heart pounded in your chest, for what reason you weren’t entirely sure. The whole situation made you want to run away, but equally powerful was the urge to stay and finally solve the puzzle of his mind.

_Too close, he’s too close! I have to keep it professional._

You shuffled back, trying to establish a boundary between yourself and the obsidian-haired artist. As if he’d pay attention to such things. Maybe you should just run, leave all this behind and never look back. 

No. You needed to figure him out, you couldn’t bear the thought of walking away now.

“Am I _frightening_ you, dear Y/N?”

He closed the gap. You stepped away again, only to find your spine pressed against the extravagantly paneled wall. No escape: he had you cornered. The only question was what he planned to do next.

A tattooed finger rose to stroke your cheekbone, leaving sparks of electricity behind. You licked your lips nervously, battling the urge to lean into his fingertips. It felt _alarmingly_ good to be touched. Even by the hands of a killer.

_Am I losing my mind?_

“No,” you finally replied, but your voice shook. Damn traitorous vocal cords.

He smirked and dropped his hand to rest on your shoulder, running his palm down the length of your arm to seize your hand. Logic screamed at you to run, break free and get security, but what had logic gotten you? Suspended and alone, friendless and isolated. Maybe logic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

_Yep, I’m losing my mind._

“The truth is obvious in your eyes, my dear. Perhaps one day you’ll even be able to admit it to yourself,” he replied.

The heat of his body withdrew and your hand ached as he dropped it. Disappointment colored his piercing eyes and an apology crept up your throat, begging to be spoken. But why? What did _you_ have to apologize for? You hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Seriously, though. What are you doing here?” you asked. A poorly disguised attempt to change the subject, but you honestly wanted an answer. 

He sighed and gazed at the strange painting, his face twisting into an expression you never expected to see. Guilt.

“I came to remember.”

You followed his eyes to find a white-haired figure in the painting. The very same one that reminded you of his unique style, something about the brush strokes…

_No way..._

“Did you paint this?”

A wry chuckle slipped from his lips. “Part of it, yes.”

_And it’s called “In Memoriam”. Did he lose someone?_

Of course. Grief was a powerful emotion, enough to break people or change them beyond recognition. You knew it well. The textbooks didn’t do it justice; the desperation and agony, the loneliness and fear that something would remind you of the loss and shatter you into a million pieces all over again, like taking a sledgehammer to a pane of glass. How every breath you took was one more the other person never would, and how much that hurt to know. Anything that eased the pain was a welcome refuge. 

The artist murmured a few words, so quietly you didn’t hear anything more than the rumble of his voice. In the next instant, you found yourself pinned once again, back against the wall and wrists held in an iron grip on either side. You twisted and writhed but he was too strong; you were helpless and vulnerable with no way out.

Well, almost.

“L- let go of me or I’ll scream!”

A single sentence, and the status quo flipped. No longer was he your patient, no longer were you the one with the power. In the facility, yes, but here? 

_He can do whatever he wants to me and I can’t stop him. Shit…_

A wicked grin split his face, taunting you with his enjoyment of your distress. He hummed and shifted to press his hips against your thigh, letting you feel the twitching length growing firmer by the second. 

“Why do you resist? What has your endless obedience brought you? Nothing but _pain.”_

You hissed as his hands twisted around your wrists. The automatic protestations died on your lips; how could you argue with the truth?

“Please, just let me go…” you murmured instead. 

The artist chuckled. “I think not. I’d much rather show you the alternative to your suffering, perhaps teach you to see through the lies of society.”

A quiet whisper echoed from the main hall, footsteps treading past the room you found yourself trapped in. For a moment you considered calling for help, but no sound escaped your lips. 

_This can’t be happening…_

“Let go, doctor. Surrender and be set free from all that holds you back,” he continued, rolling against you with a quiet groan.

Coils of warmth pooled in your belly at the sound, the first hints of need waking deep within. Your lips parted and heat gathered in your cheeks as he leaned closer, eyes glinting. Hot breath fanned your ear as his mouth neared your skin and a soft whimper slipped from your lips. Completely inappropriate, but how were you supposed to control hormonal responses? It simply couldn’t be done.

“Tell me, my dear. Why do you fear me?”

You thrashed your arms again in a useless gesture of rebellion. Whatever you were feeling, you _knew _it wasn’t fear. There was an edge of risk to it, a hint of vulnerability and danger, yet you were not afraid.

You were _excited._

“I’m _not _scared of you,” you said. 

“Hmm… even after all I’ve done?” he purred.

More voices nearby reminded you of your precarious location. At any moment, another museum goer might wander in and discover the two of you. Or worse, security. You tried to break free again, but your efforts were in vain.

“Perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” he murmured, and then the murderer’s lips were on yours.

For a moment, you froze. How long had it been since you’d been kissed? Quite a while, but that was irrelevant. What _was _relevant was the texture of his mouth and the heat of his body, the sharp sound of your surprised inhale and the rough stubble scraping against your chin. 

_Fuck! Oh, fuck!_

Separating your biological desires from your logical ones was suddenly out of your capabilities. The flicker of heat in your core grew to a scorching inferno as he ran his tongue over your lip, demanding entrance you were powerless to deny. The sheer wrongness of your dancing mouths had your heart galloping and blood rushing in your ears. 

And _damn, _did he taste good.

The inner voice that guided your steps for years, the one that kept you in control and maintained the mask of normalcy, the force that insisted you could never show your true self…

That which once held such power over you, now seemed so frail and weak.

Playing by the rules and coloring inside the lines, what did it _really _get you? A job that bored you, false friends and the respect of fools. Nothing worthwhile or truly meaningful, a life devoid of joy and purpose.

Damnit, this wasn’t part of the plan! You were _supposed_ to be whole by now, fixed and undamaged. It was the reason you studied for so many years, worked so hard and spent countless hours searching for new treatment methods. 

You were broken, but you could fix it.

Right?

You fixed _murderers_; your own life should have been easy. Yet it was the hardest case of all, and you were so tired of pretending. Enough of the lies, enough of the secrecy and hidden agenda. Enough blending in and trying to be like everyone else. 

Enough hiding, enough smiling at every face as if you gave a damn about them. Enough empty words and masked words. Enough doing what you were told, and enough ignoring what you wanted.

Enough.

**\---V---**

That brief taste of your skin seemed so long ago. The palest reflection of everything hidden just below the surface. The full-bodied flavor of your mouth was infinitely more dazzling. 

As he’d requested, his friends were silent. This part was his alone, and they would not spoil it by breaking his concentration. No doubt they’d share their thoughts later on, but for now…

For now, he had you all to himself. The softness of your wrists in his grasp and the scent of your skin had him reeling, each caress of your tongue adding gasoline to the fire of his need. You were teetering on the edge of letting go, he could feel it. All you needed was the right push.

The artist ground against your thigh, easing the ache in his cock by a minuscule fraction. The answering whimper was a thing of beauty, especially when coupled with the twitch of your hips. Images from his fantasies flooded his mind, visions of all the ways you could satisfy him. Mouth and fingers and _oh,_ the velveteen walls of your core…

_No! Restrain yourself, she isn’t there yet!_

He forced himself to break the kiss and rested his forehead on yours, sharing each panted breath. What a glorious expression you wore, glassy eyed and swollen lips parted. Yes, you were worth being patient and careful. No one else would do.

“You see, doctor? You see how I can set you free?”

The corners of your lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “You say you’ll set me free while you restrain me. You really _are_ insane.”

**She’s got a point, pal.**

“Hush, Griffon! Not now.”

Despite the infuriating interruption, he couldn’t deny that the mouthy demon was right. His fingers opened, relaxing enough for you to at last break his hold if you desired. A risk, but a necessary one to gain your trust.

Indeed, you jerked away from his grip and glared at him, but he didn’t step back. Freedom wasn’t something he could _truly_ give you.

You had to _take_ it.

With a wicked grin he rolled his hips once again, bracing his arms on either side of you to support his weight. Your hair smelled so good, and just the right length for pulling…

_“Fuck!” _you whispered.

_Then _he stepped back, when your voice and body conveyed the need he’d drawn out. 

“You’re free, now. What will you do with it?”

Truly, you were a wonder. Only tiny changes revealed your thoughts; less attentive eyes might not have spotted the hesitation or the hunger in your gaze. Yet the conclusion was inevitable, and as he watched resolve harden those lovely eyes he couldn't help but grin.

“Fuck it,” you growled.

This time it was you who closed the gap, pulling his head down to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. Your hands pawed at his back, begging and pleading for more, and who would he be if he denied you now?

Tattooed fingers took hold of your ass and lifted. Lithe legs wrapped around his waist like a bear trap, forcing your core to meet his painfully hard cock. Sparks jumped from every nerve your hands caressed and flames devoured the last of his restraint as you mewled, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

The artist pinned you against the wall and brought one hand to your waist band. He didn’t hesitate and plunged his digits within, tracing the soft flesh hidden beneath. Positively divine, so soft and warm…

_And wet…_

He grinned and trailed kisses down your pulse, licking and suckling at the tender flesh as quiet moans spilled from your lips. A single fingernail scraped across your core, gathering the slick fluid as it traveled to the small nub of nerves nearby. 

“You see? You see what a delight it is to claim your freedom?”

“Fuck, _please_, just-“

He shattered your voice by pressing against your clit and rubbing. The lewd moan that rewarded him might become his favorite sound and he dragged his digit across again to hear it once more. 

Your small hands clawed at his back, hips rotating to rock against his hand. With his nose buried in the crux of your neck, he couldn’t see your face, but every stuttering breath you took guided his motion. A fine sheen of sweat broke out under his lips and he lapped at the salty fluid even as his hand drew more moisture from your body. 

Sinful noises filled the air, a symphony of pleasure his mind would play on repeat for days to come. He traced the silken flesh like it was the most precious canvas in the world, deliberately stroking and pressing into your most sensitive spots. 

“This is but a _taste_ of what I can give you. Imagine it: total autonomy, each choice your own to make.”

“Ah-! Fuck, _please!”_

He hummed and sank his teeth into your shoulder, simultaneously burying two fingers in your wet heat with a lewd groan. Soon enough, it wouldn’t be just his fingers enjoying the welcoming tightness.

You scrabbled at his spine and keened his name, your legs pulling his hips closer on instinct alone. Obscene gasps and moans spilled form your lips as he curled his fingers and pistoned inside you. A tiny hint of copper leaked where his teeth cut your flesh, the perfect morsel for his depraved soul. 

“Ah-! Shit, I’m gonna-“

“That’s it, Y/N. Break your chains,” the artist hummed.

A final cry, the gentlest of flutters against his fingers. There it was, perfection in ecstasy. He lifted his head to watch your face, twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain.

He’d seen a face like that once before, the day his life changed forever. After the gunshots fell silent and blood soaked the auditorium floor. He was still trapped under Nero’s dead body, desperately trying to appear equally deceased.

A few feet away Becca lied on the floor, mascara-laden tears streaming from her eyes and terror painting her features. Drops of crimson splattered her cheeks. 

One of the shooters approached the poor girl and dragged her into position, splayed out across one of the larger patches of floor. Her blond hair reddened along with her face as the killer’s hands groped at her body. Her sobbing intensified and V’s heart clenched in sympathy.

_I wish there was something I could do!_

But to intervene would mean his death, of that he was certain. All he could do was bear witness. 

He watched in silence as the shooters took turns, each adding their own marks to her flesh. Not once did she beg for mercy, instead taking their abuse without a word. If only _he_ were so strong…

The leader was last, identifiable by his swagger laden stride and massive weapon. He held the barrel to her neck and unzipped, gloved hands drawing out his hardened length. 

“Don’t worry, Becca. I know how to treat a lady,” the attacker growled.

Indeed, he took the time to guide her forcefully to bliss. His hands teased at her flesh and gently caressed the marks left by his comrades, praise and filthy phrases accompanying his touch. Even as choked sobs still leaked past her lips, moans and whimpers slowly mixed in. 

The artist’s heart broke for her. She was always kind to him, a vague sort of friendliness that was more than most bothered with. She didn’t deserve the cruelty she was receiving.

Nor did she deserve to have her body manipulated until a sharp cry broke through her tears. Only her face and part of her torso were visible, but it was enough. Her features twisted in ashamed pleasure, arms tightening as her spine arced off the bloody floor. Such a tortured expression, he’d never seen.

He closed his eyes, but there was no blocking the sound of the shot that claimed her life moments later.

**\---Reader---**

“God _damnit_, V…”

Heartbeats after your peak, the artist’s face had lost all expression. He mumbled the same phrase over and over, in the grip of a powerful catatonic episode. Somehow, he didn’t drop you. Thank heavens for small mercies.

**_“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,”_** he murmured. Another small blessing – he didn’t shout.

Still. The longer he stayed like this, the more likely someone would wander across him.

_And me…_

With a few careful wiggles, you extricated yourself from his grasp to stand on the parquet flooring once more. The resistance he gave you was negligible; never had you seen him so helpless.

_I could just… go._

He was a killer. He deserved justice, and all you had to do to make sure he got it was walk away. Leave him to his fate, abandon this strange man and let go of your fascination. After what happened, there was no chance he’d end up in your care again. You’d never have to see him for the rest of your life.

**_“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” _**he repeated.

A sigh slipped from your pursed lips. There was still so much about him you didn’t know. To try to help him now would undoubtedly mean the end of your professional career, if it wasn’t beyond repair already. You knew where this road would lead; to death and blood.

But also to answers.

_Is the cost too high? Is it worth it?_

If only the court sent him somewhere else. Then, none of this would be an issue. The murderous artist would be someone else’s problem and you wouldn’t have to make such a ridiculous choice. Your life would still be on its planned trajectory.

Yet that life held little appeal, now. It was pointless to deny his madness, but equally so to deny the tornado he coaxed to life in your heart. Emotions more powerful than you’d ever experienced, not to mention what his lethal hands could do to your body. A single moment in his presence sparked more curiosity and unanswered questions than a year spent in solitude.

_No. there’s no going back now._

With a muttered curse, you tugged his skull down to look at you. This was _such_ a terrible idea. “V, I don’t know if you can hear me, but you can’t stay here.”

No response, as you’d expected. Plan B, then.

You took his hand and led him into the shadows, away from the beautifully painted canvas and bright display lights. It was fortunate he liked black, or the darkness wouldn’t hide him so well.

** _“Between two moments, bliss is ripe.”_ **

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. C’mon, sit down.”

With a little prodding, he managed to take a seat on the floor. Time to get to work.

His glassy eyes refused to follow your finger, but his breathing sounded fine and there was no evidence of a seizure. Gentle taps resulted in appropriate twitches. Heartbeat normal. Physically, the man seemed completely fine.

_Okay, all I have to do is wait and he should come out of it eventually._

Considering the last time he had one of these episodes, it lasted over an hour, you settled in beside him. Your jacket made a decent blanket and it was dark, hopefully enough to conceal you from prying eyes.

If it wasn’t, you knew you’d pay the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope the first dose of true smut was worth the wait. ;D
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for joining me on this wild ride. Your kudos and comments are always a special treat! 
> 
> Next chapter - let's see what became of Michael, shall we? :3


	13. Behind the Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V and Reader both catch a glimpse of one another's truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, my dears! Today I have a special treat for you all - FLUFF! (I can hardly believe it, haha...) 
> 
> Of course, this wouldn't be right if I didn't have a bit of gore and a fresh murder scene first ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**\---V---**

He woke to the sound of cursing. Bright light shone through his closed lids and a faint aroma he vaguely recognized teased at his nostrils. Comforting warmth enveloped him, the product of a bulky knitted blanket. He was horizontal, how did that happen?

_ More importantly, where am I? _

More cursing. Heavy steps, someone pacing. That voice, he  _ knew _ that voice…

“What the fuck, what the  _ fuck _ , I’m gonna go to jail. What the  _ fuck?!” _

Dark lashes parted, painfully slowly to give his pupils time to adjust. Plain beige walls greeted him, tasteful art placed in strategic positions throughout the space. Modern furniture dotted the room, arranged to make it seem more spacious than it was. He was lying on a couch, black leather and minimalistic. To his right, a modest TV hung upon the wall beside a small desk with a laptop resting on it. The accursed beanie rested on a coffee table nearby.

“Shit, what the  _ fuck _ , I’ve lost my mind! What was I _ thinking?” _

The artist sat up and tugged the offensively itchy fabric back into place on his scalp, struggling to organize his thoughts. This must be your home, but how did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the museum, and then…

He licked his lips. What a sweet memory. After such a display, it wouldn’t be much longer before he filled you with more than his fingers.

“V!  _ Finally!”  _

His smirk turned to a frown as your quick footsteps brought your worried face into his line of sight. “What do you mean,  _ finally?” _

“You’ve been unresponsive for three hours. How do you feel? Let me check your vitals,” you began, already pulling a small flashlight from your pocket to shine in his eyes. 

The artist flinched away, batting at your arm with an annoyed huff. “I’m fine, there’s no need.”

It was sweet of you to fret, but the only lingering effect he noticed was a slight fatigue, and perhaps an irritating itch of deja vu. Nothing alarming, and nothing worth showing weakness, even to you. 

**She forgets her place. **

He hummed as you sat back, attentive eyes watching his every move. Vergil was wrong, you didn’t forget your place at all. In fact, he might even say you were where you belonged for the first time.

At his side.

Lithe fingers lifted to dance across your cheekbone, stealing a quiet sigh from your lips. So responsive, so lovely and delicious. His hand drifted lower, his thumb curling to wrap around your slim neck and pull you closer. Your pulse fluttered under his touch even as you instinctively resisted, like any prey facing its predator.

His mind went deliciously blank as your lips met his. Your small hands pressed against his chest as if to fend him off, but with each shift of his mouth, your attempts weakened. Leather squeaked as he leaned closer, shifting his body to curve over you. Another way to assert his dominance.

Yet you still rebelled against his will, stubbornly refusing to lower yourself to lie beneath him properly. True, you would be his equal if he had his way, but for now…

He tightened his grip on your neck until you succumbed. It was a delicate balance to cut off the blood supply to your brain yet to leave your airway unencumbered, and his fingers itched to clamp down and claim his prize. 

How exquisite you’d be, flaying your first victim and carving your way to the truth. Splashes of scarlet on your smooth skin, glimmering silver in your palm and a smile on your face. Oh, how delightful it would be to bury himself in you in the aftermath, when you were still drunk on discovery. 

He pressed his hips into your thigh, letting you feel the ache you woke with a soft groan. The same hands that once pushed him away now danced under his shirt, feather soft touches caressing his skin. Heavenly.

The fires of lust in his cock turned to ice as a sharp knock rang from the wooden front door. Surely you hadn’t betrayed him? Jade eyes searched your expression, digging beneath the panic and confusion to find any hint of disloyalty hidden beneath, yet he saw only more of the same. No, you clearly didn’t expect company.

A second knock, more insistent than the first. Whoever it was, they lacked patience.

“Shit, uhh… fuck,” you mumbled, extricating yourself from his grasp. “It might be my dad… fuck.”

He didn’t like the look on your face, not one bit. “Would you like me to remove him?”

_ “What?!  _ Have you lost your- no, I do not want you to ‘remove’ my father!”

**Yeesh, it was just a question!**

He didn’t quite understand. It was a simple offer, you didn’t need to make a fuss. Besides, if the man’s existence brought such an expression, he clearly needed to be dealt with. Perhaps you’d change your mind?

“Look, just… I’ll handle it, you go upstairs and keep quiet,” you said.  _ “Fuck!” _

The artist frowned but did as you asked, climbing the narrow staircase to crouch behind a conveniently placed shelf. Blood pounded in his ears, a clammy film coating his palms. If ever you would betray him, now was the moment. When no blade waited in his hand for an offering, when he had no chance of escape. His fate rested in the choices you made over the next few minutes.

The door opened to reveal two figures, though the angle was poor and he couldn’t discern any details. It didn’t particularly matter who they were; none could know he was here.

“Oh! Officer Redgrave, Officer Goldstein, what can I do for you?”

**Officers? They’re cops?! You gotta get outta here!**

Yet he ignored the avian voice. Why bother telling him to hide if you were turning him in? It didn’t make sense, something else was going on. More information was required before selecting a response.

A low voice replied, though the words were a mystery. You widened the opening and gestured for the strangers to enter, shooting a surreptitious glance his way. The artist ducked lower, just in time as the two figures entered.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Aw, this ain’t nothin’. You should see  _ my _ place!”

The wooden chairs surrounding your dining table creaked as the strangers made themselves at home. As the duo exchanged pleasantries with you, the artist couldn’t resist peeking around the edge to get a glimpse, now that he might be able to spot a useful detail. He needed to assess the threat and possible outcomes, as if he had any control.

Of course, his eyes went straight to your face to find a stony expression, far too frozen to be natural.

The other two didn’t seem to notice. Fools. How could they ever hope to catch him, when they didn’t even notice he was in the same apartment? It would've made him laugh outright if not for the need for silence.

“So, we got the paperwork finished. You are officially a police consultant, doc. Congrats.”

“Just in time for the next body to drop, too. We’re headed to the scene now, wanna come?”

The artist grinned. Surely you wouldn’t miss the meaning behind his work if you saw it in person? How perfect, he couldn’t have planned it better. 

“Yeah, uh… okay, I’ll just need a few minutes. Can I meet you downstairs?”

The two cops exchanged a look but stood, the female stretching her arms as if she’d been sitting for hours instead of minutes. 

“Sure, just be quick. Every minute counts!”

He ducked back to hide as you escorted the two to the door. The moment the lock slid into place, a deep sigh slipped from your lips. 

**Huh, look at that. She didn’t rat you out.**

“As if there was any reason to doubt,” he replied quietly. 

**I can think of a few!**

He rolled his eyes and stood, descending the stairs to find you frantically gathering your things.

“Stay here, okay? I don’t- I don’t know how long I’ll be but you need to stay put, got it?”

He scratched his scalp and nodded, mind already focused elsewhere. It was difficult to focus with so many new things to examine and so much to learn, here in the place you called home. Didn’t most people have photos of loved ones? Where did you keep yours, if not on the walls?

“I’m  _ serious _ , V. God, this is unbelievable… what am I doing?”

The artist hummed, lips curling in amusement. Watching your metamorphosis was such a delight, what a perfect companion you’d become. 

“You’re doing what you want to, instead of what others expect.”

Your lips pursed, a sharp glare lacking any true weight glittering in your eyes. “Stay. Here.”

**\---Reader---**

Outside, Nico and Tony waited by a standard police sedan. Surely they’d let you drive yourself; they wouldn’t make you sit in the back like some kind of criminal, right?

_ Even though I’m aiding and abetting one… _

But this wasn’t the time to think about the murderer currently lounging on your couch. You needed to focus, keep up the appearance of normalcy. Just a little longer, you’d figure this out. All you needed was time. 

“You wanna hop in the back or follow us?” Tony asked.

A nervous laugh spilled from your lips. “I’ll follow, thanks.”

Nico grinned and held out her palm to her partner. “Told ya. Pay up, old man.”

He groaned and slapped her hand back, mumbling curses under his breath as he hopped into the patrol car’s drivers seat. 

Nico paused, watching as you turned to unlock your car. 

“You drive  _ that _ thing? Are you sure it ain’t gonna explode on the way?” she commented, her eyes wide and locked on your rickety beast. You hadn’t even turned it on yet, no doubt she’d have more to say once she heard it. Better have the music nice and loud, then. 

“Hasn’t failed me yet,” you replied.

The look she gave you made you want to scream. Disdain or pity, maybe a hint of condescension. As if driving a car like yours made you inferior. If only she knew the murderer she was hunting currently occupied your apartment.

_ He’d better still be there when I get back… _

\---------

Tony was easy to follow, even with the anxious fluttering stealing your focus.What would you find at the latest scene? What monstrosity had V created now? And how were you going to manage to balance looking like you knew your stuff and covering his tracks?

You sighed. 

As much as you wanted to unravel the mysterious artist, he’d rapidly made a total mess of your life. It felt like being trapped in a spider’s web, watching and waiting as your doom crept closer to consume you. Like you were a fly, desperately flapping your tiny wings as if there was any hope of escape. 

You shoved the thought aside as Tony slowed, pulling into an empty spot in front of a small home currently lit in red and blue from the swirling police lights. Yellow tape cordoned off the small yard, a few stern looking officers milling about to dissuade the neighbors from getting too nosy. 

It was a nice area, if cramped. Colorful homes stood mere feet apart. Shrubs and small trees filled the front yards, adding a layer of refinement absent in most of the city. V chose his location well. A murder in such a luxurious neighborhood would set the entire upper class into chaos.

_ Not even your fancy security gates can keep you safe from him… _

Back in high school, kids from these types of homes were the bane of your existence. A little fear might do them well. At the very least, it might distract them from bullying others for a while.

You turned down the volume to a respectful level as you pulled into an empty spot on the curb, cringing as the engine loudly rattled. Maybe you should’ve ridden in the back, just to hide how crappy your car was…

_ Oh well. Too late now. _

Tony and Nico waited by the driveway, chatting with another officer as you approached. You couldn't put your finger on it, but the woman’s uniform seemed different somehow. 

“Lieutenant, this is Dr. Waras, the consultant I told you about,” Tony said, gesturing towards you.

Her angular features and rigid posture reminded you of a stereotypical drill sergeant, but at the introduction her face relaxed into a grim smile and a hand extended to shake yours. 

“Good to have you, doctor. CSI’s already finished, but try not to disturb anything just in case. Booties are by the door.”

\---------

Scarlet droplets marked the artist’s path from the front walkway inside. Small yellow tags sat by each fallen drip, each with a number etched in black. The colors contrasted with the shiny oak floor and you couldn’t help but be amused by it, that all the wealth and status of this home did nothing to protect it from V’s creation.

_ Nothing can protect you from the horror of reality. _

You stepped carefully around a few yellow markers, past the elaborate kitchen and polished granite countertops to follow Tony further inside. Smiling family photos dotted the walls and one of those fancy voice-activated devices sat on a hall table. By all appearances, a young and happy family lived here.

Tony led you to the master bedroom and paused at the door. “I’d recommend you breathe through your mouth. You haven’t eaten recently, have you?”

You rolled your eyes. After seeing Ken’s melted arms and smelling death from the orderly he’d murdered, you weren’t worried. Besides, scent was easy to ignore most of the time. It was a matter of will power.

Beyond the door was a tableau of mutilated meat. Spread out amongst the sturdy furniture and tasteful decorations, the artist had arranged sections of what could only be human flesh. A muscle here, a tendon there… There was blood, of course, but the scene wasn’t as drenched as you would’ve expected from the artist. 

Tony stayed in the doorway and watched as you wandered through the room. It was clear in his eyes that he wanted to vomit or shoot someone, but you ignored him. Far more interesting was the strange display.

Which muscle was that? How did all these pieces fit together to make a person? Humans really were just meat, when you came down to it. Hunks of steak with the rare ability to create and imagine. 

But why had V done  _ this? _ He always had a reason, he said so himself. Why go through the trouble of carving up some poor soul and hauling their carcas here to arrange this way? 

You stared at the scene for what felt like hours, searching for meaning in the macabre. There  _ had  _ to be something, there just  _ had  _ to be. All you had to do was find it.

It wasn’t until you tilted your head that the design became clear. From most angles, the spread of tissue lacked any rhyme or reason, but now?

Now all the tendrils of tendons and filets of flesh came together to form a single letter.

V.

Yet there were still pieces that didn’t fit the pattern. Outliers, strewn about like so much garbage. 

“We managed to ID the fucker. Name’s Michael DuPonte. Known rapist that we never managed to charge with anything. Guess it’s a moot point, now,” Tony explained from the hall. 

_ He deserved this, then.  _

Who knew how many women he’d made his victims? Even one was too many. You’d worked with sexual assault victims for a while in school, part of your thesis on criminal behavior. Their stories hadn’t been easy to hear.

Mostly because they kept using all the tissues you brought, but one or two told tales that hit too close to home. If it wouldn’t contaminate the scene, you’d have enjoyed spitting on his cock. Or dancing on it, perhaps. Maybe both.

_ Stay focused, come on! It still doesn’t make sense. Maybe another angle? _

With careful steps, you navigated the room and examined the gruesome display at every angle imaginable. At last, you found it - the viewpoint that brought it all home. 

Again, the remains created a single letter, but it was a different one. 

W.

This,  _ this  _ was his point. Not a single nugget was left out, the perfect reformation of a person. Nothing wasted, all to build a message meant for the world.

But why W?

It seemed arrogant to assume it was a reference to your name, but you couldn’t think of another option that made sense. Winter, warrior, wendigo, watershed…

No. It stood for Waras.

The realization sent a shockwave through you. There was no denying the madman had a disturbing fixation on you, especially after the incident in the museum. But to see it laid out for all to see, if only they were clever enough to look, forced you to face it head on. No more hiding. This went way beyond professional curiosity now.

_ What am I going to do? _

Your heart pounded, goosebumps prickling your skin. Blood rushed in your ears and the urge to laugh almost broke free. Of all the people in the world to have interested in you, you got the serial killer. 

_ Shit, and what about me? Am I interested in him? _

Despite his flaws, it was comforting to know someone truly  _ cared. _ Loneliness was a constant undercurrent in your life and you’d long ago accepted that. You were a freak, incapable of connecting on a deep level like everyone else did so easily. Others couldn’t be trusted, and if they saw beneath your facade they’d surely run away screaming.

But  _ he _ wouldn’t. The artist already saw past your mask and he was still here. That fact alone brought a smile to your lips and warmth to your heart. Not to mention he was clearly more fucked up than you. For him to run would be the height of hypocrisy. Maybe this was your chance to have it all. Maybe he could finally ease the isolation.

Maybe you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

**\---V---**

To his credit, he tried to be respectful. He  _ really _ did. It seemed immoral to abuse the trust you placed in him, by leaving him alone in your home. Not that there’d been much choice, but that wasn’t the point.

Yet inevitably, his curiosity overpowered his reason. There was so much he might learn about you, who knew what secrets he’d uncover?

First, he pawed through the kitchen drawers. Nothing of particular interest; only the usual collection of kitchen utensils met his wandering hands. 

Next to draw his attention was the hall closet, where he found cleaning supplies and coats. A few pairs of boots and stylish heels, a box fan and a crate of basic crafting supplies rounded out the packed shelves.

**C’mon, there’s gotta be ** ** _something_ ** ** interesting here!**

**I’d prefer something useful…**

He had to admit, he was disappointed by the mundanity of your home. He’d imagined it to be a more truthful reflection of your personality, but instead it was simply another layer of falsehood to peel through before he could expose your true value. So many masks, why did you  _ bother _ with them all? It must be exhausting. 

On to the bedroom. Maybe he’d discover a secret hoard of filthy novels or a box of buckles and straps. He certainly  _ hoped  _ so.

But no, even your bedroom lacked any glimpse beneath the surface. It was infuriating, to imagine the circumstances which led you to hide your true self even in your most private of spaces. He would shred whomever built your cage, tear them to pieces as slowly as possible. Drawing out the process wasn’t something familiar to him, but surely it couldn’t be  _ that  _ difficult to keep someone alive and in excruciating agony.

It was in your bedside table that he found it - a stack of photos showing you and several recurring faces. There you were, graduating college. And there, a birthday. Another showed you planting a kiss on an older man’s cheek. Was that your father? You had the same nose. Perhaps the meaning behind your earlier expression hid in the image. 

He took a seat on the bed and examined every pixel of the photo. A drink sat by the man’s hand, a haze of drunkenness evident even in a simple snapshot. Sheets of paper kept the half-full glass company, some kind of form if he had to guess. 

And you… though your lips pressed against the man’s cheek in an unmistakable gesture of love, your eyes remained on whomever took the photo. Worry tainted your lovely eyes and your body angled away from the man, as if you craved an escape. The dark artist wondered why you kept this photo when it was so clear you didn’t want to be in it. 

The man must have forced you. Reprehensible; he’d never hold you back. 

He would set you free.

**You should do something nice for her, Van Gogh. Show your good side for once!**

The artist frowned and flipped to the next photo, where you played with a dog. A retriever?

“What would you suggest? I can’t exactly go out and buy her flowers.”

**Right… maybe… uhh…**

V rolled his eyes and looked at the final photo, where a childish version of you stood in a large group of children. A class photo? 

**Oh, for heaven's sake! Cook something!**

Ugh, cooking… he  _ hated  _ cooking. Some compared it to art, but why bother creating something if it will only be consumed moments later? Food lacked the lasting impact his paintings held.

It might still make a nice gesture, though..

He sighed and carefully set the stack of pictures back in your drawer. What would he even cook? Did you have ingredients? If only he had the freedom to visit a grocery store himself, but it wasn’t worth the risk. 

In the end, he found some pasta and vegetables. A pair of chicken breasts and a jar of sauce rounded out the meal. Simple, but enough to deliver the message. Truthfully, he was a bit excited to see your reaction. This might be the most normal thing the two of you ever shared; at the very least, it was so far.

He set the table and lowered the heat of the stovetop, keeping the meal warm until you returned. 

_ Now what? _

There wasn’t time to figure it out, as the click of a key in the door signaled your arrival. The artist grinned and stirred the pasta, sending waves of savory scent wafting through the air. He hadn’t been this excited for something other than art for years.

“What the…” you murmured, stepping through the doorway with a weary look, shoulders drooping. 

“Welcome back,” V replied.

“You… did you  _ cook?” _

He smiled and nodded, gesturing at the spot he set for you. “A token of my gratitude, for all you’ve done for me.”

The corner of your lips twitched, a sound he couldn’t translate slipping through. He’d never seen your face with this expression, what were you thinking? Did you find his message? Perhaps he hadn’t been clear enough, but he could try again soon enough. 

“Alright. I give up, this is too much.”

You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag, striding toward the table and taking the indicated seat. Perplexed, the artist didn’t move. 

“You give up?”

“Yup. This can’t possibly be my life.”

_ That… is not the reaction I hoped for. _

Chuckles bubbled from your throat as you stared at him, intensifying with each heartbeat. The artist’s heart warmed; he’d never heard you laugh like this before. Choking, holding your stomach and tears forming on your eyelashes. You’d never looked so lovely.

He smiled and took his own seat, the pasta forgotten on the stove. It didn’t matter, he’d rather enjoy your face right now. 

At long last, you managed to calm down, though an occasional snicker still broke through. Slim fingers wiped away the moisture leaking from your eyes, lips still twitching. “It’s insane,  _ hehe,  _ the hands responsible for what I saw tonight also made me dinner. It’s  _ hehe,  _ it’s goddamn surreal.”

With that, you broke down in giggles once again. Something about the sound of your laughter and the wide grin on your lips summoned snickers from V as well, and within moments his own chuckles mixed with yours. When was the last time he laughed,  _ truly  _ laughed?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Right now, all that mattered was the growing joy in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this chapter gave me serious trouble. Fluff is hard for me to write. I hope you all enjoyed the break from darkness, but don't get used to it. 
> 
> We're about half way through now, I think. It seriously means the world to me that you guys took the time to check this out, let alone left kudos or shared your thoughts with me. Thank you so much, every single one of you. 
> 
> On a side note, Dr. Waras has now become an OC in my head! There's too much backstory and she's too unique to be a true Reader-insert at this point, but I'll still use the same pronouns since it's what everyone's used to. Just be aware there will probably be the occasional physical description or more specific references going forward. 
> 
> Next time - We return to the darkness and learn more of Waras' past.


	14. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and V have a heart to heart, and the battle of wills continues. Kotomi makes a decision and Nico follows her instincts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello my friends! I know you guys have been waiting for this, so I'll keep it short and sweet.
> 
> Warnings for NSFW, brief mention of alcoholism and edgeplay. 
> 
> Enjoy!

On the other side of town, a young woman sat in a dark room surrounded by filing cabinets. Her chocolate hair hung in a limp ponytail, loose strands attesting to how long she’d been there. Empty coffee cups littered her desk along with scraps of paper with half-formed thoughts scrawled upon them. Shadows played under her eyes and an exhausted slump curled her shoulders, but she couldn’t give up now.

“Hey, I’m heading out. Don’t stay too long, okay, kid?” a familiar voice said from the doorway. Tony.

Officer Nicoletta Goldstein forced a dry chuckle from her lips. “You got it, I won’t be long. Just finishing up.”

Her mentor offered a lazy salute and turned away, his heavy steps echoing through the nearly empty police station as he approached the elevator.

Nico frowned and returned her attention to the monitor, releasing yet another deep sigh as her latest search came up empty. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, but digging up dirt on Waras was proving more challenging than she imagined. A more spotless record, she’d never seen. If anything, it made her even _more _suspicious.

_There’s gotta be something, I can feel it!_

If Tony caught her looking into the doctor, he’d be furious. They’d already had an argument about it, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Normal folk didn’t leave crime scenes without showing some kind of reaction to them. The neutral, flat expression on Waras’ face on her way out wasn’t right. The young officer might even call it indecent.

Tony said it made sense, considering her career. The woman dealt with criminals on a regular basis, no doubt she was desensitized to horror by now. He had a point, but she knew from personal experience how different it felt to be there in person, instead of looking at pictures or hearing someone tell you about it.

When Nico first saw the carnage, she’d had to run outside to vomit. It was far from her first murder scene, but never had she viewed such gruesome evidence. Even thinking about it brought a sour taste to her tongue. She’d expected a similar reaction from a civilian.

_Maybe her social security records have something?_

She opened yet another database and entered the search terms, reaching for the most recent cup of coffee as it loaded the results. 

“Ugh,” she grumbled, grimacing at the ice-cold fluid. Why couldn’t the search run faster? Crappy government internet… Might as well get a fresh cup while she waited. Stretch her legs.

She stood and sighed, glancing once more at the monitor before departing for caffeine. The progress bar was halfway done, she had plenty of time.

As the echo of her footsteps faded, a soft ping sounded from the unattended computer.

**\---Reader---**

You had to admit, it was nice to come home to a hot meal. The chicken was spiced perfectly, and the vegetables had a delightful crunch. The madman knew his way around a kitchen, it seemed.

_I should make sure none of the knives are missing later._

“I couldn’t find any wine; I hope the meal is still to your satisfaction.”

Late afternoon light spilled through the window behind him, lighting his form with a gentle glow. The scent of lemon and sizzling meat wafted from the kitchen area, the fruits of his labor still waiting on the stovetop. Quiet music flowed from your stereo, barely noticeable but the ideal accompaniment for a meal.

You swallowed the savory bite residing in your mouth and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink much.”

Forest green eyes studied you curiously, the artist’s chin resting on one hand. He’d been more attentive than when you left; he must be feeling better. For a moment, it was all too easy to forget who you were with and enjoy the fading light of the setting sun behind him. If only the peaceful facade of two regular people sharing a meal were true.

_He’s a killer. You just saw what he’s capable of._

“Why not?” he asked.

You took another bite and shook your head. “My dad’s a drinker. I’d rather not get into it.”

“Hmm, what shall we discuss, then?”

The fork in your hand clicked against the almost clean plate as you set it down. “How about Michael?”

“Who?”

So he didn’t even know his victims name. Was it all coincidence, then? Most likely; his other victims seemed random, too. His unpredictable targets were part of why the police needed your help.

“That’s the name of the man you killed and chopped into pieces.”

His face lit up, an excited shine entering his gaze. “Ah, yes! You found the true meaning, I assume?”

Suddenly, the bottle of whiskey hiding behind the olive oil sounded appealing. How the _hell_ were you supposed the talk about this? You were no stranger to complicated conversations but chatting about the artistry in a murder scene was a new standard. 

No doubt the artist would break _that_ standard soon, too.

_Yup, getting drunk is looking better by the second._

You pursed your lips. “Yes, I found it. You’re not quite as clever as you think you are.”

A beat passed in silence before he smirked, carefully setting aside the remains of his meal. “I do not recommend you underestimate me.”

“I could say the same, you know. I can still turn you in.”

He hissed, muttering something under his breath with a glance to your left. Most of his words were lost to the void, but you caught something about chicken soup and plucking.

“If you were going to betray me, you would’ve already done so. You’re in too deep to run now,” he said a moment later. “But I _am_ curious what you thought of my work.”

You hummed and sat back with a sly smile. True, it was too late to run, but that didn’t mean he held all the cards. Not even close. It was about damned time you regained the upper hand.

“We can trade. A straight answer for a straight answer.”

“Oh, are you finally willing to stop hiding? I admit, I have many questions. Griffon and Vergil, too.”

So, he was still hallucinating. It made sense, especially since he wasn’t getting any medication anymore. You couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted to know, and how different the questions from his voices would be. How much of his odd personality was his own? How much was a manifestation of trauma? How much of it was _real?_

“Let’s raise the stakes. What if I refuse to answer you? What should my penance be?” he asked.

You eyed him, noting his slim build. No doubt he hadn’t had much exposure recently, his system wouldn’t handle it well. The chicken might slow down the process, but still. Plus, you knew your own tolerance could handle it. 

_Thanks, dad…_

“Whiskey. I have a bottle in the cupboard.”

Sure, there was some risk to it; if he drank too much, you’d have to clean up any vomit. You’d have to watch him carefully and stop him before it got to that point. What kind of drunk would the man turn out to be? An honest one, hopefully.

At his agreement, you fetched the unopened bottle and a fresh pair of glasses, filling them before taking your seat again. The signature smell made you gag, but you’d drink him under the table with ease. It was in your blood, after all.

“So… who goes first?” you asked.

The murderous artist smirked and took a tiny sip, sampling the drink. “The lady, of course. Don’t hold back.”

_Smug bastard, he has no idea how fucked he is._

“Who was the white-haired man in the painting?”

The change was instant; his smirk flipped into a tight frown, his shoulders tensed and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn’t like that question, not one bit. Maybe you should’ve started with something a little gentler.

The artist released a deep breath and closed his eyes. “His name was Nero. He was my friend.”

“What happened to him?’

He tutted, shaking his head like a parent scolding a child. “Ah, ah, ah. It’s _my_ turn now. What did you think of… Michael, was it?”

You pursed your lips and swirled the amber fluid in your glass. It was a mild enough question, a safe place to start. Might as well answer and conserve your capacity. Considering your experience with him so far, you’d need it later. He was too clever for you to expect to get out of this game sober.

“I thought it was extraordinary. Chaos to a casual glance, but an intricate web designed with one purpose for those who look deeper. Very clever, if grotesque.”

To your shock, a pink stain tinted his cheeks and the madman averted his gaze. He was embarrassed, unbelievable. Someone with his ego should be used to praise.

But it was your turn. Time for an answer, or to force him to drink. You repeated your question from moments ago, watching his expression like a hawk. Even if he refused, you’d learn something here.

He sighed and raised his glass, taking a generous gulp. Damn. 

“My turn. Are you a virgin?” he tossed back.

Well. Apparently personal boundaries were a thing of the past, that much was clear. Sex wasn’t that personal, though. Everyone did it, why beat around the bush and pretend to be pure and innocent? “No. Why did you leave school?”

“Hmm, that’s easy. My calling drew me elsewhere. What’s your relationship with your father like?”

You crossed your arms and glared at him. “I thought we agreed to give straight answers. Why did you leave school?”

Adam’s apple bobbing, he licked his lips and fidgeted with his glass, refusing to meet your intense gaze as the last dregs of sunlight faded away. Judging by how uncomfortable he seemed, you were on the right track. This line of inquiry held great promise. Maybe tonight was the night you’d finally figure out why he did the things he did.

“There was… an attack,” he murmured at last. “It opened my eyes to the truth, that innocence and naïveté are foolish and must be eradicated. I woke to my purpose and left to fulfill it.”

A moment passed in reflective silence. This was a major piece of information, the latest step toward the truth. The thrill of resolution danced across your skin and sent your heart galloping. If you could get him to tell you just a little more, you’d solve the puzzle at last. Finally- _answers_.

Assuming you didn’t fuck it up and make him raise his guard again. It wouldn’t do to be disrespectful and break his melancholy remembrance. Instead, you pondered what else you might ask and watched the shadows dance across the table.

Eventually, his eyes lifted to meet yours once more. “Forgive me. It is not a pleasant memory.”

“I understand. Take your time,” you replied softly.

The quiet was unbearable. Perhaps you’d gone too far, pushed too hard too soon. It wasn’t easy to judge where the line was, it never had been.

“What do you do for fun, doctor?”

_Wait, what?_

Even with all the questions you’d imagined he might ask, this hadn’t crossed your mind. It was too mundane, too ordinary. The sort of thing Kotomi would’ve asked you.

Oddly enough, you didn’t want to answer. The things you did in your spare time didn’t include normal hobbies like cooking or going for a jog. You didn’t like talking about it, because inevitably others made fun of your interests. The idea of the man before you laughing at your expense left your heart feeling strangely tight.

You lifted your glass and took a sip, cringing as the fluid burned its way to your belly. Disgusting.

“Interesting…” murmured the artist. 

_Shit, maybe I should have made something up._

But it was your turn. No time to think about it, better to find a good question instead. What combination of words would unlock the mystery of his origin?

“What kind of attack was it?”

He sighed and traced the lip of his glass with one finger, thinking. Technically, the question didn’t reveal anything about him directly, and it wouldn’t be hard to find the truth online. Any kind of attack would have made headlines. It was a gamble to ask openly, but the odds of victory seemed high.

“A shooting,” he replied at last. “But back to you… why did my last question make you uncomfortable? What twisted hobby are you hiding?”

_Bastard. He’ll figure it out if I answer._

The dark liquid didn’t burn as much this time, instead leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. How strong was it, anyway? What had Kotomi gotten you? It shouldn’t affect you this much yet, but there was no mistaking the warmth growing within. Maybe you should’ve finished dinner first, gotten a bit more meat in your stomach.

A quick glance at the bottle your ex-friend gave you for Christmas explained it. Fifty-seven percent, no wonder it was hitting you hard. You couldn’t afford to keep drinking like this, or you’d end up completely wasted.

It didn’t matter. You _would_ win this. Failure was unacceptable.

“How many voices do you hear?”

He chuckled and rolled his shoulders. The black shirt he wore hid nothing and your eyes traced the curve of his muscles, admiring his broad chest and defined form. Why did he have to be so damned attractive? The whole situation would’ve been simple if he was balding or had a beer gut, but _no…_

_I should have some water. Already feeling foggy._

“Three, though I consider them friends. They aren’t simply ‘voices’, but I doubt you’d understand.” 

The man had the audacity to smirk as he met your eyes, as if he knew you were watching the way his body moved. Coils of heat gathered in your core when his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, all without looking away. Bastard.

“My turn. Have you ever wondered what it’s like to take a life?”

The warmth turned to ice. Of course you had, but you didn’t want _him_ to know that. There was no safe answer here. No matter what you did, he’d see right through your lies or find a way to use the truth against you. The man excelled at mind games, maybe a drinking game was unwise.

You raised your glass, shocked to see that it was already close to empty. A single swallow remained; just enough to dodge the question.

“Ha, I’ll take that as a yes.”

Your vision swam. Using the larger glasses was a miscalculation, and you were paying the price. It almost made you laugh; every time you thought you’d outsmarted the murderous artist, he proved he was two steps ahead. In an odd way, it was nice. Finding someone that could keep up with you was rare.

“Whatever, it’s my turn. How mush do you plan ahead for your kills?” you slurred. Damnit.

As you spoke, he refilled your glass with a knowing smirk. His was still half full.

“Not much. Usually I have an idea for the piece but it’s quite vague, until I find the right canvas.”

You pursed your lips. “You mean the right _person.”_

He frowned and leaned in, eyes glittering. Did they _always_ look that green?

“Tell me, doctor. Do you _really_ consider everyone equally valuable to society? Aren’t there some who, while cared for, do not contribute? When looking at society from a utilitarian perspective, what determines someone’s value? Why should it matter who I choose, so long as they fulfill their role?”

Without thinking, you took a healthy swallow from your freshly filled glass, mulling over his words. “But why do _you_ get to pick? Plus, if you cut someone’s life short, you’re not just destroying their current contribution but any future ones. Just because someone isn’t doing something important _now_ doesn’t mean they never will. Who are _you_ to deshide?”

“Would you rather choose them yourself?”

“Th- that’s not the point!” you stuttered. “You shouldn’t kill people!”

A frustrated growl rumbled from his throat. “People die every day, for no other reason than they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. My work serves as a reminder to be vigilant. It might make the difference for someone out there.”

He had a point. Nothing served to guide social change quite like the need for safety. People were idiots like that, sacrificing anything just for the illusion of normalcy. But would his work truly accomplish what he hoped for?

_Fuck if I know._

You giggled, then leaned back and sighed, too tipsy to continue the debate. A warm buzz saturated your senses, the slightest hint of dizziness only adding to the whimsical mood. Drinking wasn’t so bad, maybe you should do it more often.

“Whose turn was it?” you asked with a crooked smile.

The artist gave you a bemused look and reached for your glass. “It seems wise to stop for now. At least the drinking aspect, that is.”

“Ha. Are you admitting defeat?”

The clatter of glass on wood echoed through the room as he set aside the glasses and bottle, smirking again. Smug bastard. “Not at all. Do your worst.”

You drummed your fingers on the table, assessing options. Curiosity tugged at your mind and danced across your tongue, a myriad of questions begging to be answered. Knowledge is power, as the saying goes.

“What was your first kill like?”

“Messy. It took a few tries to refine the technique,” he replied with a mischievous look. “My turn. Did you enjoy yourself at the museum?”

Though blood already heated your cheeks from drinking, somehow your face managed to heat even more. The beat of your heart quickened, and goosebumps prickled your flesh. You squirmed as your core twitched, the memory enough to slicken your walls. Did you dare to answer? He’d taken away your drink; did you even have a choice?

_They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing._

“Yeah, until I had to babysit you and drag your sorry ass here. What’s your full name?”

The ebony-haired man chuckled and took a sip. His glass _still _wasn’t even half empty.

“You know, my dear doctor… you haven’t returned the favor I performed.”

A snort of humor slipped from your lips. As if you hadn’t _already_ risked everything for him, now he wanted _more_? But maybe you could turn this to your advantage. It might be fun to make him lose control. Time to change the game. New tactics, since the old ones weren’t working.

Besides, an orgasm might help you sober up.

“Hmm, are you requesting a consult?”

He stood and stepped closer, licking his lips. Bastard.

“Your insight would be greatly appreciated,” he purred.

His voice sent a shudder down your spine. The beige walls of your home spun and you blinked, forcing your eyes to focus through the drunken haze. Between your legs, flames licked at your core and urged you onward, wanton need filling you with daring. Or maybe that was the whiskey.

“I _do _shpecialize in psychiatry… I suppose I _could _examine your head.”

The artist’s eyes widened, his pupils blown as you reached for his belt. A single finger hooked around the leather and tugged his body closer, and you scooted to the edge of the chair in preparation with spread legs. The angle wasn’t great, but it was too late to worry about it.

“Tell me _alllllll_ about your symptoms,” you murmured with a sultry smirk. Oh, you’d show him who was in charge all right. No mercy, not even if he begged.

But the accursed man wasn’t yet fazed, his steady hands stroking your cheeks and hair and leaving trails of sparks behind. “I’ve had terrible swelling, and a slight fever…”

You licked your lips and unhooked his belt, giving the buckle a sharp tug to remove it fully. It made a satisfying _snap! _and you grinned, fingers already teasing at his pants. The tight fabric did little to conceal his engorged cock, and you dragged your thumb over the end with just a hint of pressure.

The resulting groan was all the encouragement you needed; you’d see him come undone tonight. 

Mere heartbeats later, the length you’d glimpsed weeks ago stood before you in all its glory, thick and curved and already shining with arousal. A throbbing vein ran down his length, the perfect target for teasing. Soft as a feather, you dragged the tip of your tongue down the vein. Your heart was racing, sinful desires flooding your system with lust.

_“Ah_… what treatment would you recommend?”

You smirked at the tension in his normally honeyed voice. This was going to be fun.

“We’ll have to relieve the pressure somehow. You might need regular treatment, too.”

The artist hummed, hooded eyes glittering down at you as his hands guided your lips closer once more. Blood thundered in your ears, anticipation a heady drug as he rested his cock on your lower lip, forcing you to make the next move. His scent tickled at your nose, the first hint of his essence enough to leave you dizzy. You could barely breathe, you wanted to taste him _so bad!_

_How does he smell so good?_

“And what are my chances of recovery?”

“Don’t worry, I take _excellent_ care of my patients,” you replied, and then you made your move.

Your tongue danced across his slit, back and forth until not a drop remained of the creamy sample. Tattooed fingers twitched, his staccato breathing a mark of the effect you had on him. His tangy flavor tingled on your taste buds and summoned lightning across your skin, fanning the flames heating your core. 

“I feel better already,” he crooned.

It almost broke your focus.

Almost.

The smooth, hot flesh of his head was heaven in your mouth as you engulfed him with a soft moan, caressing the ridge with your tongue. Dainty hands drifted up his thighs to grasp his hips and ease him into motion. A low growl escaped his mouth as you hollowed your cheeks and explored his shaft, mapping every inch.

Hellfire and brimstone, he tasted _gooooooood._ It wasn’t fair how he fit inside your mouth so perfectly, or how his every touch made you shiver. You’d never experienced such intense need, all consuming and impossible to deny.

The artist fisted your hair and snapped forward, tapping at the back of your throat with a muttered curse. Unprepared for the sudden invasion, you gagged on his length but quickly recovered and welcomed him as deep as he’d go, humming as he somehow filled you even more. Hair tickled at your nose and you pulled back, working your tongue and coating him in your saliva.

You paused to press kisses on his toned stomach and bring your hands to help in your efforts, stroking and teasing at the tender area. The murderer shivered under your ministrations, his dark and hungry eyes watching your every move. A sheen of sweat coated his abs, his normally alabaster skin tinged pink in between his intricate tattoos.

“Should I continue?” you asked with a smug smirk.

In response, his hands tangled in your hair and guided your mouth back in place. You didn’t resist, shifting your hips to rub your aching clit against your chair. Ripples of arousal blasted your nerves as you started grinding, whimpers slipping from your crowded mouth. Setting a steady rhythm, you bobbed up and down his length, moaning at his flavor and reveling in the power you held to summon such obscene sounds from his throat. What would it feel like, to have him inside you?

_I wanna know…_

His rolling hips shattered the lewd images racing through your mind, forcing you back to the present as he blocked your airway. In and out, harder and faster with each moment. Impressive enough to make your jaw ache, but it didn’t matter. You wouldn’t stop until he broke.

A harsh gasp and sudden twitch of his length signaled his imminent release and you pulled away, lips swollen but curled into an impish grin. The expression on his face was perfection, frustrated and hungry and begging for more.

“Well, that’s just cruel,” he said.

You giggled and flicked your tongue across his tip, teasing. A small corner of your mind warned you of the danger of teasing a serial killer, but you ignored it. It was the same voice that told you not to stand out or break the rules, the voice that chained you in normalcy. The power it once held over you seemed so foolish, now.

“You want more?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

A low growl rumbled up his chest as he seized your jaw, putting pressure on the hinge until you opened to accept his scorching length. It shocked you to realize how much you enjoyed provoking him, and the sheer thrill of his dominance. You matched his pace, rubbing against the chair to ease the howling need between your thighs. It didn’t help much.

_His hands would feel so much better…_

But tonight, it was _his_ turn to beg. The moment his grip on your hair loosened, you pulled away again, wiping trails of drool from your lips. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

The artist hummed, fingers lazily caressing your cheeks. “I want _you._”

His hands drifted lower, exploring your chest and sending shivers down your spine. Sweat glistened on his skin, shimmering over his tattoos like glass catching light. The outline of his body blurred, your vision swimming as he crouched to your level. The look in his eyes stopped your breath.

“I want _all _of you. Body, mind, and soul. I will settle for nothing less,” he murmured.

And then his lips were on yours, smooth and gentle. Your heart hammered against your rib cage, stomach flipping as your eyes fluttered closed to revel in his flavor. This was an altogether different sort of kiss, leisurely and unhurried yet still deep and passionate. It left you reeling and breathless, craving another the moment he broke away.

“I’d _also_ very much like to see you swallow every drop of my cum.”

Withholding the whimper of need his words summoned proved to be a challenge you couldn’t defeat, and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. Smug bastard, but two could play at that game.

“Well, we _do _need to finish your treatment,” you purred, fingers teasing at the fabric covering your chest.

His breathing hitched, Adam’s apple bobbing as you pulled the cloth away, your bra barely a heartbeat behind. You bit your lip and leaned forward, taking his saliva covered cock between your breasts. It was sheer decadence to stroke him, your hands dancing with your hardened peaks as they kept him in a tight hold.

V threw back his head and groaned as your lips joined in, tongue teasing at his ridge and slit in turn. Hints of a deeper, sweeter taste leaked onto your waiting taste buds, the promise of his seed making you light-headed.

Lithe fingers gripped your shoulders, tight enough to bruise. Emphatic curses and panted moans slid from his smooth lips, his snapping hips bucking wildly against your body. He tightened again, cock twitching against the roof of your mouth.

You pulled away and smirked at his frustrated groan.

“Accursed woman! D- don’t stop now!”

The chair beneath you creaked as you leaned back, lazily stretching your arms behind you. “Tell me what you want.”

His hands clenched, jaw tight with what could only be rage. Was this the face he showed his victims?

“I want to cum,” he muttered. “Please.”

_Hahaha! There it is! _

The superiority of victory crashed against your lust like waves on stone. You wanted to dance and shove it in his face that he, the mass murderer, was begging you to let him cum. Oh, how delicious it was to be in control. Just look at him, so desperate and needy he was willing to beg.

“I’ll allow it, since you asked so nicely,” you replied with a grin.

Before you even had time to blink, his swollen head barged past your teeth and deep into your throat, choking you without mercy. Hands wrapped around your neck and tugged at your hair, forcing you into the position he needed. Your own need was forgotten as he pumped against your face without mercy, giving you no chance to draw breath.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck!” _growled the artist.

You moaned and caressed him with your tongue, wet heat encasing him as you pressed your nose into his stomach. The air stank of sex and sweat, whiskey and chicken. The muscles of your jaw screamed for a break but you denied them, putting all your focus on him.

He tightened once more, the grip of his hands refusing to let you withdraw this time. A guttural moan accompanied the first pulse of his release, his hips stuttering and thighs quaking. You didn’t stop, slurping and humming as his cum flooded your mouth. Rope after rope splattered against your throat, filling what little space he wasn’t occupying with his cock and dribbling from your lips to mix with your saliva on his length.

At last, his body relaxed. The last few drops of his euphoria tingled on your tongue as you slowly pulled away, pausing to lick any morsels left behind. It was a flavor you already wanted to taste again.

The room trembled and bucked as he stepped back, still panting in the wake of his pleasure. Your head was spinning, giddiness welling up in a flash. Damn, how much did you drink?

“My dear, _dear_ doctor…”

You couldn’t help it; you cackled, snorting between peals of laughter. “Ha ha, do you- _ha! _Do you have insurance?”

The artist smirked and pushed the ebony strands away from his face. “I’m afraid not. Perhaps I can offer payment in another form?”

“Heh, I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Come to my office and we’ll discuss it,” you replied, then stood on wobbly legs and stepped toward the staircase, beckoning the artist to follow you. On the second step you paused to dispose of your pants, wiggling your ass a bit more than was strictly necessary. You couldn’t resist putting on a show. Clothes were a stupid idea, anyway.

The next thing you knew, tattooed arms wrapped around you and held you close, one large hand cupping your skull to keep it from hitting the staircase on your way down. Stairs were a stupid idea, too, come to think of it.

“Are you alright?” asked the artist.

Well. So much for putting on a show. Whatever, it didn’t matter. You shot him a grin and rose, dashing up the next few steps with a giggle. Tomorrow, you’d have to send Kotomi a thank you email for the whiskey. The woman had good taste.

The steps trembled under your feet; they weren’t supposed to do that.

“Here, let me help you,” murmured a silken voice.

“Pfft, I’m fine. C’mon,” was your response. You didn’t need help; it was just _stairs_. You could handle _stairs_.

Another few steps. The handrail was cool to the touch, but it gave the support you needed. Warm hands hovered behind you, a concerned pair of green eyes watching your every motion. Perhaps that was for the best, as the railing jumped out of your hand and left you off-balance once again.

“Damnit!” you cried, struggling to stay upright as the world shifted like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Color and light, shapes and shadows blended together as you fell, right back into a set of powerful arms.

“Got you, almost there.”

_I know, I live here. Thirteen steps. I shouldn’t need help to climb thirteen steps!_

**\---V---**

At first it was rather enjoyable to see you indulge your every whim, but by the time the artist managed to get you upstairs the novelty had worn off. Four times, you fell. Four times, he caught you. It would’ve been easier to just carry you like a sack of potatoes.

**“Smooth moves, Van Gogh!”**

“Shut up, Griffon,” he replied to the blasted bird hovering overhead.

“Griffon? The way you draw him is so pretty,” you commented. “Pretty bird.”

**“Hear that? I’m a pretty bird.”**

V sighed and helped you to the bed, pausing to pull the blankets back. You lacked the coordination to do much more than collapse into the sheets with another giggle. He felt a slight mirth as well, a subtle tingle of intoxication, but you were obviously worse off.

“Soooo… where’s my payment?” you asked with a smirk.

As much as he craved the sounds you made in the museum, the artist paused. The two of you hadn’t discussed the parameters of your relationship, was it okay for him to make you writhe with ecstasy?

**Do it. You know you want to.**

He shook his head, casting aside the words. As much as he relied on Vergil for good counsel, the man didn’t place much value in other people. Not the most reliable source for guidance, in this situation. If only he had a canvas; painting always soothed his spirit.

“Why don’t I pay you tomorrow? For now, you should rest,” he finally said.

A petulant frown was his response, but you didn’t resist as he urged you to lie down properly. Your hair was loose, splayed out across the pillow like a splash of blood. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it, okay?”

His fingers itched to plunge inside you, stretch you open and drown in your fluids. The way you’d moan his name, the way your body quivered under his attentions… Quite tempting. He longed to see you wrecked and incoherent, destroyed so that you could at last see the truth.

But not tonight.

“I won’t forget. I promise.”

Satisfied for now, you closed your eyes and snuggled deeper into the blankets, nuzzling the pillows. Someday soon, you would nuzzle his chest instead as he held you, talking quietly about his next piece.

_Soon._

The ebony-haired killer stayed by your side until soft snores filled the silence. He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear with a soft smile. “Hmm, you really are a lightweight, aren’t you?

**\---------**

Kotomi Ishida wrung her hands outside her boss’ office. This was a terrible idea, she should just walk away and get back to updating her patient’s files. Pretend nothing was wrong.

Pretend she hadn’t put her own career above that of her best friend.

_It’s all my fault. I should never have accepted this job._

By all rights, she didn’t belong here. The patients terrified her, she hated the commute, the hours sucked and she had no one to talk to since Waras’ suspension. Maybe her mother was right, maybe the psychiatric field wasn’t a good fit for her. 

If only Waras was here. She was such a good listener and always had the best advice. No doubt she’d have a genius way of phrasing things that would make it all fall into place and help her figure out what she was supposed to do.

_I miss her…_

Kotomi sighed and forced her hands to relax. It wouldn't do to say nothing. The guilt was crushing her, a weight heavier than anything she’d ever known squeezing her heart. She had to at least _try_ to make things right.

Her slim hand rapped against the barely open door, her voice a diminutive whisper. “Dr. Malphas? May I speak with you?”

“Of course, come in,” he replied.

The young woman gathered what little courage she possessed and entered, softly clicking the door closed behind her before taking a seat. Once, her boss’s office felt like a safe haven. A place to escape the horrible people she was responsible for helping. Today, it was a prison.

“Dr. Ishida, what a pleasant surprise! What can I do for you?”

She took a deep breath. “I need to tell you about the day of the fire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long process to get right, and I couldn't have done it without the help of my lovely friends Squiddy and VKyloCifer. You guys have been amazing and I appreciate you so damn much. Thank you <3
> 
> Also a big shout out to you, dear reader, for taking the time to check out my story, leave kudos or tell me your thoughts. I'm so grateful that people enjoy what I do and that I've made so many friends here. You are all superstars, and if anyone says otherwise I will send V after them @(>.<@)
> 
> Next chapter - Yeeeeaaah, so you know how 13 and 14 were kinda light and fluffy? Brace yourselves, the storm approaches.


	15. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and V both face their respective demons and a visitor surprises them at breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, holy crap I'm not dead you guys! Real quick before we jump in, I have to thank VKyloCifer, Lady_Lily_Lost and InugamiMochi for their support and help with brainstorming. Each of you helped me get past a block of some kind or make a plotting decision that I was struggling with, you all have my unending gratitude.
> 
> With that, enjoy~

**~~~~Reader~~~~**

_Ugh… why is it so hot in here?_

You blinked your eyes and groaned, licking your dry lips as a pounding headache announced its presence. The familiar weight of blankets pressed upon your body, but something wasn’t right. The texture was off, like a layer was missing…

_What happened to my shirt?_

For that matter, why did your mouth taste like salt? 

_Oh shit._

The memories of the night prior flooded your mind, hazy and confused but clear enough to explain the flavor on your lips. Dinner, whiskey and drinking games, and… 

_Oh SHIT._

Bedding rustled as you rolled over with a grimace, expecting to find a certain murderous artist by your side. Instead, you found only empty space; the other side of the bed didn’t appear to have been disturbed all night. Was that a good sign, or a bad one?

It didn’t matter. First order of business was getting coffee and some ibuprofen. Everything else would have to wait.

You took your time clambering out of bed, muttering expletives with each motion. The neutral walls and unobtrusive decor did little to ease the urge to vomit, but it was the stairs that made you pause, remembering how you struggled with them last night. 

_Just take it slow. One step at a time._

By the time you reached the last step, your hands were screaming to release the railing. Even so, you waited a moment to regain your balance before acquiescing. 

Your tired eyes scanned the familiar shapes of your apartment, searching for a head of tousled ebony locks. He couldn’t have _left, _could he? Where would he go? Was he out killing someone right this very moment? 

You couldn’t discount the possibility as you found no trace of the man. 

_Goddamnit, V! After everything I’ve done to cover your ass…_

How could he be so stupid?! If anyone saw him and recognized him, he’d end up right back in police custody! It didn’t make any sense to take the risk, what the hell was he thinking?

You pulled out your phone and opened your email, tapping at the painfully bright screen until you found what you were looking for. It was a long shot, but you were desperate. It might already be too late, you might just make everything worse, but at this point you were screwed anyway.

You pursed your lips and waited, eyes locked on the screen as if you could make him answer through sheer force of will. Every second he failed to respond heightened your anxiety, innumerable disastrous scenarios playing like a sick film in your imagination. Not since junior high had you been so anxious to hear from someone. _Damn _him!

Releasing a huff of annoyance, you forced yourself to set the phone down and make coffee. The pounding of your headache wasn’t going to fade unless you took action, and you needed to be able to focus and think clearly. Getting emotional helped nobody. 

As you readied the coffee machine, ears perked in case your phone alerted you to a response, you noticed something odd. The dishes from last night’s dinner were clean, sitting on the drying rack as if you’d scrubbed them in your sleep. 

The madman had cleaned up.

But something was missing.

_He stole my sharpest knife. Fuck._

Your head swam and sweat dotted your palms. He might have taken it just as a precaution, but more likely he was out making another art piece. What message was he crafting? No doubt you’d find out sooner or later; the police would probably be in touch once the scene was discovered. At least he did his work in private areas, that lessened the chance he’d be caught in the act. 

But still.

You sighed, hoping against hope that he was safe as you poured a cup of dark roast and took a sip. Bitter and strong, just how you liked it. A dose of ibuprofen accompanied the next gulp. 

_I’m not an idiot teenager. Sitting here and waiting won’t make a difference._

Even so, a moment later you checked your phone. Still no response. _Damn _him!

Part of you wanted to scream and throw the slim device against the wall. Another part wished for nothing more than a good cry. A whirlwind of emotions, swirling like a tempest at sea, leaving you to battle the waves or drown beneath them.

_What if he has another episode? There’s no one there to help him and make sure he’s okay._

Going catatonic at the wrong time may lead to his death. Crossing the street, driving a car, even stalking his prey could leave him exposed and at risk. Heaven forbid it happened in the middle of his creative process; his victim would have the perfect chance to turn the tables and kill him. 

But what could you do to prevent it? How could you keep him safe?

Not to mention the fact that maybe he wouldn’t welcome your aid. It was possible he left with no intention of returning, abandoning you like all the rest. All you’d have to remind you of his presence would be the sketches from his sessions and the absence of your knife. It’d be like he never existed at all, the puzzle of his mind left unsolved.

A tight ball of grief twisted your heart, pins pricking at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to swallow the lump in your throat. After all the people who’d turned their back on you, it _really _shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the artist did the same. What did you have to offer him, anyway? You should’ve expected it, been ready for it. Why did it always _hurt _so damned much?

_I should just turn myself in… what’s the point anymore? I can’t fix myself; I’m going to be broken forever. No one would miss me anyway._

The thought sent a dagger into your chest, the blade twisting and shredding the last remnants of hope you held. What a stupid thing, to hope. It only brought more pain. Better to accept things the way they were than waste time striving for something better.

Sniffling quietly, you stepped away from the kitchen to part the curtains and grimace at the bright street below, just in case you could spot him. The area you lived in wasn’t crowded; the peace and seclusion brought you comfort in the past. Today, it only hammered home how very alone you were. 

Another glance at your phone. Still nothing. 

_He’s gone._

Your shoulders curled inward as a single, strangled sob broke free. Blinking back pointless tears, you swallowed and released a shaky breath, fighting to remain in control. Old habits died hard, and crying wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to indulge in for many years. Even as you were dying inside, you refused to let the agony show. 

_Stop it, Y/N. Think about something else, pull yourself together._

A dark sedan caught your teary eyes. Unfamiliar and parked a few spaces down from your own old beater of a car, it seemed out of place somehow. Like it didn’t belong; an outlier. You pursed your lips and looked closer, letting the puzzle of its presence distract you from your aching soul. Why did it stand out so much?

_It’s too clean._

Indeed, the vehicle shone with its lack of filth. In a city with a grand total of two car washes, a clean car was a rare sight. Whoever drove it must have an interesting list of priorities. 

_Wait… it couldn’t be._

Your focus narrowed on the license plate. From that distance, it wasn’t easy to tell, but the spacing of the digits left a strange void. Right where the three letters that mark all undercover law enforcement vehicles could be found. XMT.

Exempt. 

“You gotta be shitting me,” you murmured, stunned. Cops. Here, at your home.

_I’m under police surveillance. _

You stumbled back from the window, heart racing. Did they already have V in custody? Had he sold you out? What the hell made the cops think you merited surveillance? You’d been so careful to play along, something _must _have happened for them to suddenly be paying attention to you.

Not that they were wrong.

You couldn’t help but release a peal of manic laughter. _This _was your life now, watched by the authorities and worrying about the well-being of a man who left you behind. Pitiful. 

_I can’t do this, I just can’t._

V was right; you’d been hiding for decades. Concealing your flaws as best you could in the hope that you could one day heal them. Pretending to be all right when you were anything but. You’d grown so accustomed to the mask you didn’t even know what was behind it anymore. 

Your body hit the counter, the sturdy structure supporting your spine as you slid to the floor. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around your knees and curled inwards, cocooning yourself as best you could. 

With your life in the state it was in, what was the _point _of it all? Coming back from this disaster would be near impossible. Just thinking about it made your legs feel like lead. An uphill battle to be fought alone was all that awaited you in the weeks to come. Who in their right mind would come to your aid? No; you had no allies. Others couldn’t be trusted, anyway.

V had abandoned you. Kotomi betrayed you, and Malphas… Malphas simply couldn’t be bothered. He hadn’t reached out a single time since your suspension. He obviously didn’t care about you, and he was far too intelligent _not _to know what really happened on the day of the fire. No, he knew. He just thought Kotomi was more worthy of his protection than you were.

And those were just the people who’d walked away in the last _month and a half._

A humorless laugh split your lips. Maybe your dad was right all along. 

_Once they get what they want, the people I care about will forget I ever existed. Caring only brings pain._

**~~~~V~~~~**

Elegant fingers clutched a paper bag in a tight grip, green eyes scanning the block for any sign of danger. He didn’t think there was any reason to fear, but one could never be too careful. The knife in his pocket comforted his nerves as he crossed the last intersection and peered into the parking lot or your apartment complex.

_Odd. I don’t recall that car._

His errand hadn’t taken long, perhaps twenty minutes if he were being generous. All his friends begged him to stay put, but their warnings fell on deaf ears. You _really _didn’t stock your kitchen well, and after last night you’d need a solid breakfast.

Beanie pulled tight against his scalp, V longed to tear it off and scratch away the irritation it brought. He’d tucked his locks within it and borrowed a hoodie from your closet to hide his tattoos. So far, it had been enough to disguise him, but this newcomer made him pause.

Tinted windows. Shadowy outlines of two figures in the front. The vehicle was parked in the ideal spot to watch the front door of the building; it would be impossible to enter without being seen. While he couldn’t be sure who occupied the car, it simply wasn’t worth the risk.

The artist withdrew, traversing the sidewalk beside your building and thanking his lucky stars for the shrubbery that hid him from view. An urge to look over his shoulder swept through his mind, but he ignored it. If someone was watching, it would only make him seem more suspicious. Better to appear unconcerned, as if he belonged here.

_If one cannot avoid being seen, one can still avoid standing out._

From what he recalled, your apartment was in the south east corner, two floors up. With only one entrance on ground level, he'd need to get creative to find a way back to you. 

He smirked. Creativity wasn’t something he struggled with.

Within moments he found salvation; an iron wrought fire escape firmly anchored on the eastern wall. He climbed it quickly. Surely you were awake by now, and hopefully coherent enough to let him in. If not, he could settle in and wait. 

Yet through the gauzy curtains covering your window, he spotted you. Curled up on the floor in the kitchen, head bowed. Likely due to the hangover you were sure to be suffering from. Perhaps he should’ve stopped you sooner last night. He tapped the glass with his free hand.

The look on your face as you lifted your head stopped his breath. Vacant eyes, tear tracks on your cheeks on either side of your red and runny nose. It was a look he knew intimately, one of grief and mourning. He’d seen it on his own features for many months after Nero’s passing.

Whatever happened to summon such an expression of sorrow would meet the end of his blade. Quickly.

He tapped the glass again, rewarded when your face shifted to recognition. Those delectable fingers he so adored tasting wiped away tears as you came to let him in. 

“Where were you?” you asked the moment he was inside. “Is that my sweater?”

**This is a waste of time. She’s more trouble than she’s worth.**

The artist clenched his hands and growled. “Stay out of it.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, setting his package on the nearby countertop. “Not you; Vergil was being rude.”

You sniffled, dewy eyed and with fidgeting hands . “Right. S- so, where did you go?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s wrong?”

The blade in his pocket called to him, urging him to wield it against your foes. He would _not_ allow anything to interfere with his plans for you, not when you were making such excellent progress. 

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” you said dismissively. “What’s in the bag?”

It was obvious you were _not _fine, but pressing the issue might do more harm than good. Better to distract you and ask again later, when you were calm. “Here, let me show you.”

Your eyes went wide as he unwrapped the chunk of meat. Blood dripped from the tissue he’d used to wrap it and beautifully soaked the counter with his favorite shade of crimson. If only he had a camera handy…

“That’s not… _human, _is it?” 

Griffon’s raucous laughter filled his mind, but V only smirked. “Bovine, actually.”

_“Ohthankgod…”_

At that, he did chuckle. While the human form made a splendid canvas, it didn’t appeal to him as a meal. He had his limits. “I thought I could make you breakfast.”

As if your strings had been cut, you fell into one of the chairs by the counter and stared at him incredulously. “Breakfast… you risked being _seen… _to make me _breakfast_.”

He scoffed and reached for a frying pan, flicking the stovetop on with his free hand. “Indeed, though I wouldn’t call it a risk. I wore a disguise.”

You pursed your lips as he seasoned the meat. “You mean my bright orange volleyball sweater? Yeah, you are the _epitome _of discretion.”

An undercurrent of irritation spoiled your teasing statement. Shadow growled her displeasure and V clenched his jaw. Here he was trying to do something thoughtful and kind, and you only got upset with him. Vergil would surely tease him about it later. Wonderful.

“Sorry. I just... “ you murmured. “I just didn’t know if you were coming back, and-”

“And you think so little of me that you imagined I’d abandoned you?” he snapped, setting aside the spatula and turning to face you. Breakfast could wait. 

You refused to meet his eyes, a stony expression locked in place like a barrier against his annoyance. “Why not? Everyone _else _has.”

**There, she gave you the perfect opening. Leave now and don’t look back.**

**Yeah, even I say it’s bail time. Gotta draw the line somewhere, pal.**

His patience shattered. The artist slammed his palms on the counter with an animalistic snarl, barely noticing how you jumped. “_ENOUGH_! My decision is made and I will not hear any further protests! Aid me or be silent, all of you!” he roared.

For several seconds, the only sound in your spacious apartment was his panting breath. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heart pounding in preparation to do battle, yet it seemed his friends would abide. For now.

He released a long sigh and tore the accursed beanie from his scalp, ruffling his hair to relieve the itchiness. Your sweater wasn’t far behind. A twitch of his slim wrist and the stove was off, waiting until the mood befitted a meal. 

“I must apologize. My friends are quite insistent at times, but in this they cannot sway me,” he began, circling the counter to sit beside you. He peeked through his dark hair to meet your eyes, still wary but warming with each word he spoke. “Forgive my boldness, but I’m not going anywhere.”

You sniffled and offered a subdued smile. “Leave a damned note next time, okay?”

He hummed his agreement and offered his palm. “Deal. Now, come help me with breakfast.”

**~~~~Reader~~~~**

You spent the next half hour watching V orchestrate a feast. He moved like a dancer through the kitchen, practiced hands flying as he flipped a massive omelet and expertly seared meat. A content smile graced his full lips as he cooked; the man was truly at his happiest when being creative. 

The best help you could offer was staying out of his way.

Not to say he let you sit back and idly watch; not at all. He had you chop vegetables and set the table, taking the chance to touch your shoulder or waist when you were close enough. It was peaceful, like an island in the tempest raging around you. If only things could be like this every day.

But you were a realist, and eventually you couldn’t keep from shattering the illusion.

“So I take it you saw the cops outside? That’s why you took the fire escape, right?”

V frowned as he dished up your half of the omelet. “I wasn’t sure they were cops, but caution seemed prudent.”

You sighed and carried the very full plates to the table, silverware and napkins already prepared. The savory scent of steak brought a flood to your mouth as you took your seat. “Yeah, I think I’m under surveillance.”

The sting of it still hurt. Tony and Nico seemed like nice people, but one of them must have suspicions. It was only a matter of time before the house of cards came tumbling down. All it would take was a moment of inattention, V walking by a window at the wrong moment or getting spotted on his way back inside; it was foolish to imagine he wouldn’t go out again.

So. Options.

“I think our best play is for me to leave. Since they’re watching me, they should follow. Then, you can leave and find somewhere else to lay low.”

The artist smirked, taking a bite of fluffy eggs. “I _could _just dispose of the issue.”

You shook your head and cut off a chunk of meat, moaning quietly at the exquisite flavor. “No, this looks above board. They’d just send more cops and get more suspicious.”

_Not to mention all the **other **reasons murder isn’t the right way to solve your problems..._

Before he could reply, a sharp knock on the door stole your attention. Your eyes and V’s went wide in unison, though his hand hovered by his pocket far too quickly for your liking. He still hadn’t returned your knife…

“Squirt, it’s me! I know you’re home, saw your car.”

Ice filled your veins. He wouldn’t leave without getting whatever he came for, he _never_ did. _Damnit, _of all the times he could've picked to randomly show up! Was he drunk? What the fuck did he want? You sighed.

“It’s my father. Take your plate and go upstairs. I’ll get him to leave as soon as I can.”

The artist’s eyes flashed. “The drinker?”

“Yes, just go! He can’t find out you’re here.”

His nostrils flared, jaw tight. His posture reminded you forcefully that he wasn’t just some guy you had over for breakfast; this was a _serial killer_ with untold amounts of blood on his hands. A man mentally unstable enough to be sent to a psychiatric hospital, with frequent auditory and occasional visual hallucinations. “Unpredictable and dangerous” was putting it mildly.

_Though, **some **problems **can** be solved with murder._

“Just say the word, you’ll never have to deal with him again.”

Instead of answering him, you stood and headed for the door. Following your instructions at last, V ascended the stairs with a frown. He’d just have to deal with it, it’s not like these were normal circumstances.

With your best false smile in place, you opened the door. “Hi dad. What are you doing here?”

Greasy brown hair covered a growing bald patch on his scalp. A beer gut bulged out from his flannel tee, a stench of Miller radiating from him like cheap drugstore cologne. A few days worth of stubble cast a shadow on his jaw.

_At least he’s not covered in vomit._

“Heya, squirt! You gonna invite me in?”

_Do I have a choice?_

“Yeah, of course. Come in.”

You made it a point to not socialize with him unless he initiated. There was too much bad blood, too many tainted memories and half-hearted apologies. He was beyond forgiveness and you were done trying to build a bridge when he insisted on burning it down. The most you’d grant him was civility, if only to avoid outright conflict. 

“Nice place. Kinda _too_ perfect, though.”

Ten seconds in, and already he’d insulted you. Not a new record, but close. “I like it this way. Uh, what… what are you doing here?”

He shot you a lopsided grin, displaying his yellowed teeth. “Can’t a father visit his genius daughter? C’mon, let’s catch up. You got anything to drink?”

_Not after last night, no._

But you let him see for himself. He wouldn’t take your word for it if you tried, anyway. Like many alcoholics, he always believed himself to be the victim of persecution. As if it excused his rotten behavior. 

“Nothing?” he said at last, closing the final cupboard. “Damn, you’re lame…”

“S- sorry. Maybe we can go out instead?”

It set your teeth on edge to hear yourself stutter. In high school, it’d been the main reason you got picked on, along with your father’s history. It wasn’t easy to escape the blight of sharing blood with the man. Just one morning, a mere handful of hours to keep your secrets hidden. You could tolerate him that long, surely.

“Nah, how about you just run to the store and get me something like a good girl?” 

_Don’t you call me that. Don’t you **dare **call me that._

You bit your tongue. Emotions were just a chemical reaction; you were in control. He just stimulated the neurons that brought this feeling on, it wasn’t like he had any _actual_ power over you. Not anymore. 

“Look, this, uh, this isn’t really a good time for me. Can we catch up later this week?” you replied. A mask of neutrality paralyzed your face, but inside you were screaming.

_Get out! Get out of my home, this place is mine and I won’t let you ruin it! Haven’t you done enough damage?_

You knew better than to let the words take shape as your father settled into your couch, propping his legs up and sighing happily. “Truth is, I got evicted. Got nowhere else to go, so figured I’d stay with you until I get back on my feet. Hell, you could even help me get going like you used to.”

Never had V’s method of solving problems appealed to you more. It didn’t matter how much you wanted him to leave - you would never agree to be his accomplice again. “What about a hotel? My couch isn’t that comfortable.”

He chuckled, gesturing dismissively as if your words held no weight. “S’fine, I’ll take the bed. Oh, is that steak? Awesome!”

_1000… 993… 986…_

The sound of his chewing and happy moans barely preceded V’s footsteps. 

_No, no, nonono! What are you doing?! You idiot!_

“Good morning,” the artist began, approaching your father’s meat-stuffed face with his own plate in hand. Though his expression was still, sparks of rage flickered in his green depths and his hand twitched toward his pocket. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough already…

“Uh, hi? Who are you?”

One metaphorically bloodstained hand extended over the table to shake the equally morally questionable hand of your kin. “You can call me V.”

“Heh. V. Weird name. You sleeping with my daughter?”

_Someone please just kill me. I’m so fucking done._

It wasn’t embarrassment that made you purse your lips as V sat down. It was the knowledge of what would inevitably come out of your father’s lips and the potentially atomic reaction it would elicit from V. 

“More or less,” replied the artist, taking a bite of his own steak.

Your father glanced at you and smirked, as if to say ‘watch this’. A sinkhole opened in your stomach as he licked his lips. This was it, train wreck in five, four, three...

“You sure you want _her? _She’s kinda… well... “ his voice dropped. “She’s kinda _nuts_.”

A flash of silver, copper staining the air as fresh blood soaked your table. Maniacal laughter and a twisted sense of relief, that at least you’d never have to hear his voice again, endure his insults or manipulations…

_That_ was what you expected.

You did _not_ expect V to laugh and wave you over, wrapping an arm around your waist possessively the moment you were close enough. You did not expect him to smile at you fondly and _never _would you have imagined his response. 

“I know. That’s why I love her.”

Intricately tattooed fingers brought your hand to the artist’s lips for a kiss. You barely made it to the chair beside him before your legs refused to support you. Love… Is _that_ what he called it? It had to be an act, some scheme to throw off your father. 

_He can’t be serious._

“You got some fucking shitty taste in women, then, my friend. The last guy she was with wound up dead, the one before that _still _can’t walk properly.”

Beneath the table, V’s hand clenched yours in a vice-like grip. His wrist kept twitching, closer to his pocket where your knife still resided. It took all your strength to pull him back.

“Dad, knock it off. Let’s get you a hotel room, we can talk tomorrow.”

He took another bite and grinned. “Whasamatter? Don’t want me talking to your newest boy-toy?”

V’s grip tightened. You winced but refused to pull away, lest he lose control. How long had it been since he killed? Most killers had a pattern, a time frame. If he were overdue, restraining it would be even more difficult. 

_Defuse, deflect, de-escalate._

An obviously fake laugh found its way past your lips. “Aw, don’t worry. I’ll always be a daddy’s girl.”

The source for half of your genetic material burped and polished off the last bite of steak, chewing open-jawed as if trying to catch flies. “Good girl,” he said.

That time, it was _your _hand that twitched closer to the blade.

By all rights, you knew he was toying with you. Playing with your fucked-up head and sending it spinning, like a child’s top or a carousel. It was his standard opening move; destroy any existing emotional framework and get you to revert to being his “good girl”. Burn you to ash so he could rebuild you however he pleased. Remind you of how powerless you were and how easily he could ruin everything you built.

Angry tears prickled at your eyes, a baseball blooming into existence where your vocal cords were supposed to be. If you clenched your teeth any harder, you’d crack a molar. Every ounce of self-control and restraint went into withholding a scream.

**~~~~V~~~~**

Your father was perhaps the most magnificent canvas he’d ever seen. The sheer volume of ways he wanted to carve the man into pieces outnumbered the entirety of his portfolio. A slice here, a stab there, how delicious would it be to make the man eat his own eyeballs? His steaming entrails spilling onto the floor, his still-beating heart visible through the hole artistically positioned across his ribcage; the ideas refused to slow.

But you’d told him long ago not to harm the bastard. 

_Not yet..._

“Let’s get the dishes started and give your father a moment to settle in, hmm?” V commented. 

“Works for me. Where’s the remote, squirt?”

“Coffee table,” you ground out. 

The instant the abominable man turned away, he pulled you to your feet and grabbed a dish. How would your father’s spleen look on a plate? Or perhaps his cock? The artist hummed; _that _was an idea worth revisiting.

The kitchen was barely far enough to be considered out of earshot, but it would have to suffice. He licked his lips and asked the first question that came to mind. “Why do you let him speak to you like that?”

A muscle in your cheek clenched as you released his palm, eyes narrowed into a ferocious glare. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Lithe fingers handed you a plate. “I _strongly _disagree.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Water spewed from the faucet and you commenced scrubbing, using more force than he imagined was required. He handed you the next plate. A knife was next, but he hesitated. It fit so well in his fingers, like it was calling his name…

**Do it. Stab her, kill them both and leave. Enough foolishness.**

He dropped the knife.

The words still echoed in his mind. _“That’s why I love her.”_

It wasn’t strictly a lie, but was it the truth? Why else did the monstrosity in the living room still breathe? Why else would he hesitate to slice the fool’s throat open and dance in the gushing fluid? 

**Yeesh, look what she’s turned you into, Van Gogh. This is just pathetic.**

“Stop it,” he muttered, handing you the dropped knife as quickly as possible. The warmth and comfort it brought moments ago was but a memory. Only cold steel remained, foreign and obscene to his grip.

“Stop what?”

**Kill her. She is nothing, a plaything you’ve outgrown. You’re free now, she is unnecessary. **

He shook his head. Wide jade eyes searched for something safe to view. A cutting board? Perfect for slicing your thighs open. Kitchen shears? Excellent choice for severing tendons. A wine glass - the perfect container to hold your detached fingers.

**Just do it, you’ll feel better. Trust us, have we ever led you wrong?**

“V? What’s wrong?” 

His skull was splitting, too many voices all at once and why wouldn’t they _just shut up? _Yours was the one life he wished to preserve, why did his friends want to end it? Far away, he heard your voice calling his name, but it was like you were a ghost calling from beyond the veil. 

**Kill her. Kill her. Kill her…**

_No!_

Dainty hands wrapped around his torso, a warm voice telling him to breathe. He latched on with all he had, desperate to let those arms comfort him and bring him back to himself. 

**Kill her.**

Agony. 

Wave after wave of unbearable pain, rolling over him with no end in sight. Like a boulder on a beach, eventually he would wear away into nothingness. He was powerless against the inferno boiling his blood and the spikes digging into his gut. 

**Kill her.**

He lacked the strength to stand and fell to his knees, groaning as he struggled to resist the shining blade glittering in the dishwasher. It would be so easy to end his suffering, all he had to do was take the handle and plunge it into your body. He could do it over and over until nothing remained but holes for him to fuck. To feel you wrapped around him was a persistent fantasy, how divine would it be to create caverns only he would ever enjoy?

_“NO!”_

The artist lurched to his feet and ran, sprinting to the exit as fast as his long stride would carry him. It didn’t matter that he had no sweater and no beanie, it didn’t matter that the police were right outside, he didn’t care that he would never again taste freedom. 

All that mattered was putting distance between himself and you.

**~~~~Reader~~~~**

You stood in stunned silence as the door swung shut behind V’s departing figure. The sink still sprayed water, ricocheting off a forgotten plate to douse the counter and your stomach but it didn’t matter. 

The wanted murderer you’d been giving shelter was gone. Running outside in full view of the police watching you.

Your life was over.

“Fuck…”

Somehow, throughout this whole mess you’d believed you could put your life back together. There was _always_ a path back, always a way to move forward. It wouldn’t be easy, nor quick, but it was still _possible._

V had just drenched that chance with gasoline and tossed a lit match on it.

It happened so fast; your hands still hovered where you’d been trying to hold him. Leftover heat from his body warmed the air and his scent lingered in your nostrils like a memory. 

“Where’d that loser go? You scare him off?”

Your shell-shocked gaze turned to your father. Everything was _fine_ before he showed up. Did he even know what he’d done? Did he care? “He’s… he’s gone.”

“Good riddance, I say. Now it’s just me and you, like old times.”

_Old times…_

There was still hope. Maybe the cops were gone, maybe V managed to slip past them. You could still salvage this. You had to at least _try._

_But… how?_

You closed your eyes, mind racing. There were two obstacles you had to deal with; the cops, and your father. Operating on the assumption that all was not lost meant that the cops could be ignored for now. If they were still a factor, it was a moot point.

That left your father.

The man who took less than ten seconds to insult you when he arrived.

The man who coerced you into counting cards as a child.

The man who’d run over a kid in your third grade class.

The man who demanded everything and gave nothing back.

The man who would sell you out as soon as he’d blink.

The old you would have backed down and meekly done as he told you. Gone back to pretending you were okay and that you felt things the same way as everyone else. Accepted his praise and craved more, never imagining there was a different life out there for you. 

_I can’t- what do I do? What would V do?_

You already knew the answer. He’d do what was necessary. The artist would never pretend, he’d tear the mask from his face and scream his defiance to the world. No matter the cost, he would not shy away from it.

_No more hiding._

A trembling hand reached into the soapy water and grasped the same blade V stole just hours ago. How fitting, to use it for this. 

_It’s time to take action._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another step closer to the finale! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, it was a beast to get finished. I'm really curious what you guys think Waras will do to her loving father XD
> 
> As always, I cannot thank you enough for joining me on this train wreck. I appreciate every click, every kudos and every comment. You guys are the coolest people on the internet!
> 
> Next chapter - Finally some fucking action as V makes a run for it and we see what happens to daddy dearest.


	16. Fight and Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Waras must deal with her father and the consequences of V's hasty departure, while V does what he can to avoid capture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! Since we're over 15 chapters in, I wanted to take a quick moment to remind you all that I am not a medical professional, nor do I have any expertise in mental disorders. All the characters here are portrayed to the best of my ability and their respective conditions have been researched, but I am not an expert. While I'm always open to hearing criticism, I might not change things to reflect actual medical conditions as I will always prioritize the story over realism. I appreciate you all suspending your disbelief and taking a leap of faith here.
> 
> With that, enjoy!

Your hand trembled around the slim handle of the knife. This was a choice you could not reverse, an action that had no path back. You had to be certain there was no other way, that this was what you really wanted.

_ What _ ** _do _ ** _ I want? _

“Where’d you find that guy, anyway?”

Your kin scratched his ass and wandered back to the living area, plopping onto your couch and reaching for the remote. As if he lived here, as if he weren’t an invader. As if he was welcome in your life. What you wouldn’t give to have him disappear... 

_ ...I could make that happen. _

You caught your breath. It would be so easy, to just sink the blade deep into his gut and twist. Tear his body open and watch the light fade from his eyes. Even thinking about it gave you goosebumps.

But you weren’t a murderer. What was wrong with you, having such dark thoughts? Not to mention enjoying the visuals. No, killing your father wasn’t the answer. There _ had _to be another way. 

_ Maybe I can incapacitate him somehow? _

“Whasamatter, cat got your tongue?”

You pursed your lips and forced your hand to relax, releasing the blade from your iron grip. There was one alternative, though it was extremely risky. It might even end up killing him anyway, but there was a chance he’d survive. Manslaughter, not murder.

You couldn’t think of anything else and you didn’t have time to waste. Every second that passed was one more that V could’ve been caught, could’ve started spilling all your secrets. The knife wouldn’t do. A more precise tool was required. 

“Something like that,” you replied at last, opening a nearby drawer that held your prize. Voices on the television faded in the wake of the dull roar resounding in your ears. 

_ No more hiding. _

A grunt of acknowledgement was your only response. Your fingertips closed on cool metal and you shuddered, knowing the dark history of the procedure you had to perform. So much could go wrong, but what else could you do? 

Sliding the drawer closed, you took a moment to prepare. The rage and pain of V’s sudden departure, the fury and resentment you held for your father, the itching desire to break free… All your distorted emotions spread out like a buffet of misery. They would only distract you. Unacceptable - focus was imperative. 

One by one, you visualized them in your grasp. Tufts of pain and threads of mirth, strings of shame and rebellion all went inside an imaginary steel box, the lid too heavy for the pesky things to break free. The storm inside calmed with each addition to the box, and as you mentally clicked a padlock in place, a sense of calm descended upon you.

_ It’s time. _

Steady feet carried you to stand behind your father. The patch of baldness on the crown of his reclined head was barely disguised by greasy strands of brown and the light of the screen added a blueish pallor to his skin, as if he were a corpse. 

In a few moments, he very well might be.

_ “Breaking news - an escaped killer believed to be responsible for the recent killings downtown has been spotted near the financial district. The police are in pursuit and shots have been fired. Law enforcement is advising residents to stay indoors and call immediately if you see the suspect.” _

Your stomach sank as an image of V popped up on the screen, green eyes sparkling over a twisted smirk. Shots fired. Police in pursuit. Could this possibly get any worse?

“Holy shit… holy _ shit _ , your boyfriend’s a _ murderer?!” _

You just _ had _to ask.

The incredulous eyes of your father met yours, his lips spreading into a sly grin. No doubt the bastard was already imagining ways to use this to his advantage, force you to do whatever he wanted. Harness your mind for nothing more than gambling, all the while treating you like a pile of dog shit he had to scrape from his shoes. It almost made you laugh.

_ Not this time, dad. _

“Yes, he is,” you replied.

And then you slammed the handle of your tool into his temple as hard as you could. 

His expression went slack, a thin trickle of blood trailing from where you split the skin. A quick check of his pulse revealed a thready but stable heartbeat. Perfect.

You angled his head and lined up the slim metal stick. Last chance to change your mind. It was a longshot that you could pull this off properly; you’d never done it before and research only helped so much. The slightest mistake may lead to patricide. Not to mention the risk of infection; your apartment wasn’t exactly a sterile operating room. The _ best _case scenario meant the obliteration of his personality. 

_ Courts could only charge me with manslaughter, not murder. I’m _ ** _not _ ** _ a murderer. _

You took a deep breath and steadied your hands. There was no time, he could wake at any moment and the longer V had to run, the more likely he’d be captured. The moral ramifications could wait. Consequences be damned.

The metal chopstick slid past your father’s right eye with ease to tap at the frontal bone hiding behind it. Tiny blood vessels surrounding his eye socket burst from the pressure, lines of red that would turn black by the end. With the heel of your unoccupied palm, you struck the chopstick, over and over until the bone gave way with a sickening crack. It didn’t take much - the bone was thin. 

You felt the slightest resistance before his brain tissue gave way. It was softer than you would’ve expected, easy to tear through. Like a tender piece of steak, the meat falling off the bone. The chopstick slid forward as if it had always been there, embedded in your father’s eye socket.

“Here goes nothing…” you whispered.

With a gentle twist, you rotated the utensil forty degrees and wiggled it, severing neurons with every motion as you approached the midline. Trickling blood leaked from the entry point, but not much. It truly was an extraordinary technique, somehow both invasive and not. Simple, yet effective. Grotesque, yet elegant.

The perfect punishment for the misdeeds of your blood.

You spent several minutes ripping away the connections between the frontal lobe and the thalamus. It didn’t have to be perfect, nor did you expect it to be. All you could hope for was that it was enough to prevent him from reporting you to the cops. 

But you wouldn’t know for sure until he woke up.

_ Which could happen at any time. I’d better hurry. _

The left eye went much more quickly, your wrist already learning the motions needed to do the job. You paused to check his pulse, finding it racing but steady. About what you would’ve expected for someone undergoing brain surgery.

One last wiggle of the metal instrument and you sighed. Surely that would be enough? How long was this supposed to take? How did you know when you were done?

_ Doesn’t matter. I have to get moving. _

You withdrew the chopstick at the same angle as the initial entry, cringing at the quiet slurp when it came loose. Blood coated the metal, and a few greyish particles you’d rather not think about. A scent similar to egg whites and copper tinted the air. How long should you wait before leaving him to his fate? Whatever the result of your procedure, there wasn’t much you could do for him now.

_ Five minutes, then I go. Just to see if he stops bleeding from his eyes. _

You set a timer on your watch and spent the scant seconds gathering the essentials, papers and clothing, food and water. The items you were sure to need if you followed through with the barely cognizant plan still forming in your mind. How had it come to this?

It didn’t matter. The reality was that your old life was gone, and there was no turning back now. You were past the point of no return, had been for days. The second you decided to help the murderous artist at the museum instead of turn him in, you had made your choice. 

Your watch chimed; time to go. You had everything you truly needed, the essentials snugly arranged in your old university backpack. The worn out straps slid home across your shoulders as you approached your father for what was most likely the last time. 

“Dad? Can you hear me?”

His eyes were still closed, drying lines of blood lining his cheeks. Purple bruises marked where you’d done your work, dark shadows not unlike a black eye. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest seemed almost normal. At the very least, you hadn’t killed him outright.

You pursed your lips and shook his shoulder. It would be best if you knew how coherent he was before leaving. 

“Hnnn… what happened…?” he murmured. 

Language center intact; a good sign. Hopefully.

“You okay, dad? You passed out,” you replied. 

He blinked owlishly, the bruises a stark contrast against the whites of his eyes. His gaze was clear, but something was gone from his expression. “I think so, just got a headache.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

A wrinkled hand rose to pinch his nose, smearing the blood still wetting his face. He paused and stared at the red streaks, perplexed but not alarmed. “You were behind me, and the news was on… saying something about that guy of yours?”

Memory and basic motor function intact; that could be good or bad. You took a seat beside him and feigned nonchalance, forcing yourself to portray calmness. If he still planned to take advantage of the situation, what were you going to do? If a damned _ lobotomy _didn’t do the trick, how far were you ready to go?

“He’s in trouble, yeah? Huh… did he hurt someone? But he seemed nice enough...”

The confusion would fade in time. If you’d done the procedure right, the inability to make decisions would not. Only time would tell, and you’d wasted enough. He was alive and able to speak, you’d have to take your chances on the rest.

“Yeah, something like that. Listen, I gotta go for a while but make yourself at home.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, but if he left… no doubt he’d cause trouble. The man had a knack for it. Even just a few minutes of his oddly calm demeanor was a shocking contrast to his normal attitude. Had he ever gone this long without insulting you or implying your lack of worth? You didn’t think so. That had to be a good sign, right? That his emotions were no longer able to influence his decisions?

Whatever. Good enough. 

“Okay, hon. See ya later,” he replied. “Love you.”

You forgot how to breathe for a moment. Words you’d never heard him speak until now, uttered so casually as if they meant nothing. You should have lobotomized him _ years _ago. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so broken, wouldn’t have ended up chasing after a serial killer. 

_ Doesn’t matter. Time to go. _

With a final nod at the man you called father, you stood and headed for the door, swiping V’s beanie from the coffee table almost as an afterthought. What came next, you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that your career was dead and your friendships (if you could even call them that) were built on lies, and the only person who spoke truth to you was out there, running for his life and being shot at. 

**~~~V~~~**

The soles of his shoes slapped against pavement as V ran, pumping his legs as fast as possible. Both Griffon and Vergil howled at him to turn around, go back to where he was safe and hidden, but he ignored them. Besides, the police wouldn’t catch him unless he allowed it. They were fools and he, a genius.

He didn’t bother trying to hide as he darted past their vehicle, instead focusing on speed. His options were limited, _ damn he should've held onto that knife, _but he could manage. 

Mere seconds passed before the blaring siren erupted behind him. He didn’t look back; it would only slow him down. With his eyes trained forward he’d be better able to spot a way to elude the idiots in blue.

“This is the police! Stop and put your hands up!”

_ Not likely. _

He vaulted over a picket fence, landing on his feet and dashing off again. How foolish he’d been to hide in the first place, playing house with you as if he could ignore his calling. Idiocy, he should’ve known better than to believe there might be someone who could share his dreams. A companion would be nice, but it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t _ need _you.

He simply _ wanted _you.

**Faster, Van Gogh! We gotta book it!**

The artist didn’t respond, too busy panting as he slid under a decorative banner. Apparently, the fishing festival was coming to town. 

“I said stop!”

He almost rolled his eyes. If the fools didn't wield guns, he’d already have them by the throat. However, without a weapon of his own a direct confrontation was suicide. Running was his best option, until he could arm himself. Even a length of pipe would do, he didn’t have the luxury of being picky.

A soft grunt slipped from his lips as he shoved aside a passing civilian, trying to throw the confused imbecile into the police officers’ path as he fled. Perhaps he ought to shatter a window and use the glass to rip them apart? No, it would take too long.

If only he’d had more time, spent his energy on learning the area and all its hidden secrets instead of on luring you to his side. A city this size always had shortcuts and navigational oddities, things he could’ve exploited to hasten his escape. Instead, he had to improvise. Street traffic wouldn’t be enough to lose his pursuers.

_ Can’t risk taking an alley; I don’t know which are dead ends. The roofs, perhaps? No, nowhere to hide… _

He palmed a sign pole, spinning to change direction and sprinting off once again, his breath a staccato rhythm matching his steps. The police siren blared behind him, blue and red lighting the brickwork to his left as the vehicle’s tires squealed through the sharp turn, straight through a red light. Ordinary folk stared at the spectacle, wide eyed and sheeplike in their foolishness. Soon enough, they would learn the truth. 

“Stop or we _ will _open fire!”

The artist dared to glance over his shoulder, gauging the likelihood of the threat coming to pass. The disguised police cruiser was less than two car lengths behind him, and the officer in the passenger seat had his weapon drawn, muzzle pointed to the sky but clearly at the ready. He’d have less than an instant to dodge. Far from ideal…

He growled and wove his way between passerby, doing what he could to shelter in their wake. If this was to be his technique, he needed to find a more populated area. The wrong choice spelled his doom. Which way, _ which way? _

A crack of thunder split the sky, yelps of alarm echoing a beat behind. The idiotic onlookers crouched and covered their heads, fear twisting their features as they tried not to get in the way. A harsh chill danced up V’s spine.

He’d seen faces like this before. 

_ Don’t think about it, this isn’t the time. Just keep moving. _

Sweat prickled his brow, goosebumps breaking out across his bare forearms. Images of blood and terror filled his mind. The past was not so easily ignored. 

_ “V, what the hell?! Get down!” _

He gritted his teeth and ran on. Dwelling on Nero was the opposite of helpful now, he needed to focus. Every step he took could be his last taste of freedom, if he wasn’t careful. Isolating the officers would be the first step, but how?

Jade eyes continuously scanned the street as the artist ran on, forcing himself not to stop despite the growing fatigue tugging at his limbs. A dead sprint was not easy to maintain, but he had no choice. Just a little longer, an opportunity would present itself soon. It had to.

_ “Take care of her…” _

He shook off the memory. Someone screamed as another crack of thunder echoed through the air. V forced his legs to keep going, keep running until he found a way to fight, but he couldn’t go much longer. Soon, he would have no choice. The human body had its limits, he knew that better than most.

Salvation took the form of a subway entrance, graffitied and smelling of human piss and sweat. He didn’t hesitate, taking the stairs three at a time and vaulting over the turnstile without looking back. Every second counted. 

The telltale rumble of an approaching train fanned the flames of hope in his heart. Almost free, just a few heartbeats more and he could pause, catch his breath. The only disappointment would be the lack of blood left in the wake of his flight, but perhaps it wasn’t too late for that. Being stuck in a metal tube full of idiotic commuters might be just what he needed to forget the sting of leaving you behind.

He followed a group of nearby civilians, letting them lead the way to the tracks as shouts echoed down the stairwell. A young woman smiled at him as he passed, her hair a pale reflection of your auburn and slate locks. He should slit her throat for daring to look him in the eye, but there was no time. 

There - a voice, announcing the impending arrival of his freedom.

_ “710 to North Riverside, now arriving on track A.” _

He paused and scanned the signs above, clever eyes finding his target quickly. Left, then right and down. Almost there. The subway would carry him to safety, set him free to pursue his work once more. It may even serve as a backdrop, get his mind back where it needed to be.

Focused on his masterpiece.

The horde of lambs surrounding him thickened as he neared the platform, the cries of his pursuers fading away in the chatter of the masses. They discussed meaningless drivel, the actions of famous fools and the latest news about fashion. As if there were nothing of higher importance; the artist curled his lip in disgust. Hopefully, a few of them would board his train and be his latest canvases. Their bleached hair and perfectly made up faces held such potential, how delightful they would be twisted into agony. Their painted lips frozen in grimaces, their eyes forever wide with fear… 

**Focus! We are not yet safe.**

V shoved past men in suits carrying briefcases and slipped between distracted students, their textbooks heavy on their backs. He wove his way closer until at last, his feet moved from the stone platform to the metal tube that would save him. Still, even aboard the subway he didn’t dare relax. There may yet be those nearby who could capture him, or those who would do him harm. No, not until his work was complete could he afford to be lax. 

As the subway screeched into motion, he made his way forward to the next cabin. Few of his fellow travelers paid him any mind, but all it took was one. His eyes swept across every face as he moved, ever watchful for his next canvas or a sign of recognition. Another cabin, then two, until he could go no further and only eight souls shared his air. Still too many for his liking, but he grasped a pole and held tight for balance anyway.

_ “Next stop, 119th Street.” _

A pair of youthful faces on his left shifted, their bodies not far behind as they prepared to disembark. Two down, how many to go? Six? The number echoed in his mind. Depending on their temperament he may be able to slaughter them all.

The artist bent his knees as the momentum shifted, the cabin slowing to a stop. A soft chime sounded from the overhead speakers a moment before the doors opened, releasing passengers and inviting new ones aboard. 

“Nobody move! This is the police!”

**Oh, no…**

Adrenaline once again flooded his blood as V watched two figures in blue board, holding out badges as they scanned the cabin. Of course they’d followed him; it can’t have been hard to determine which line he took. There were only so many, after all. 

“What’s happening?” asked a spectacled passenger in a fancy business suit. “You’re going to make me late for my board meeting!”

The officers barely glanced at him. V lowered his face and feigned disinterest, yet his entire body was coiled and ready to spring. If they came close enough, there would be no escape. All he had to do was wait; his prey would do the hard part for him, then he could make his escape. 

“We have reason to believe a fugitive is on board. Has anyone seen this man?”

_ Just a little closer… _

Freshly polished black shoes entered his field of view, their every step echoing like war drums in the artist’s skull. His fingers tingled in anticipation, visions of crimson dancing behind his half-closed lids. Goosebumps erupted across his body and he drew in a shaky breath, his need almost too powerful to bear. Only the knowledge of impending satisfaction kept him from losing his composure and striking too soon. 

“Are you people serious? Clearly _ I’m _ not a fugitive, why can’t I leave?” the irate businessman crowed.

A thin smirk twisted the artist’s lips. If the man continued, he may become a useful distraction. 

“Sir, please calm down. We’ll have you out of here as soon as we can,” replied one of the officers, a young man by the sound of his voice. 

“But _ ‘soon’ _ isn’t _ now. _You see the issue?”

The shiny black shoes turned; the officer now faced the foolish man. Perfect.

Ebony hair fluttered as V bolted forward, snarling as he slammed the closer officer’s skull against the pole he’d moments ago held for balance. A sickening crunch rewarded his efforts and the blue-clad man crumpled to the ground bonelessly as blood leaked from the fresh indent in his head.

The passengers cursed and screamed, horrified expressions only serving to feed V’s bloodlust. He spun, making a circle in the growing bloodstain with his toes as he faced his next adversary, a blond officer not much older than himself. A fool, seeking justice in a world that granted none. If only he knew the truth.

No matter - soon enough, they would _ all _see. 

The officer’s shaking hands struggled to release his firearm, panic clear in the dilation of his widened grey eyes. Still, the weapon cracked as the lad squeezed the trigger, spewing death to any who were unfortunate enough to be in its haphazard path.

The artist ducked, moving faster than he should've been able to as he avoided lethal hits. A single bullet pierced his thigh but he ignored it - he’d seen worse and the victims had kept fighting. It would dishonor their memory if he faltered now.

Instead, he bolted closer to his assailant, wrapping his long fingers around the poor young man’s neck to slam his delicate skull against the thick glass behind him. A smear of red marked the point of impact, the only remnant of his final breath. 

With the immediate threat resolved, V smirked at the crowd and waited, content to revel in their horror. It mattered not whether his remaining foes chased him down or wandered into his path unaware, the end result would be the same. Crimson, a massive swatch of life blood decorating the walls and floors of the subway. Reminding those who used it that the transport was built on the spines of slaves. Nothing to be proud of. 

“Run,” he growled.

The terrified group gaped at him, six souls too shocked to realize they were free. Six new voices to spread his message, to tell the tale of an unarmed man taking down two police officers bare handed. The thought brought a wicked grin to his face and he licked his lips, catching the taste of scarlet on his tongue. Delicious.

He raised an eyebrow at the nearest passenger, a young woman on a seat whose pants featured a wet stain between her legs. Terrified tears streaked her perfectly applied blush, dark with her runny mascara. _ “Now, _ little lamb.”

She trembled but managed to rise, her shaky legs carrying her to the platform and to the relative safety it offered. The other five witnesses weren’t far behind her, all of them staring at him as they fled the scene. Alone at last, V surveyed his handiwork. Two dead police officers, not much of a mess but enough to whet his appetite. 

If only he had the time to properly utilize their corpses. He’d yet to create a public display, and it excited him to imagine the far-flung reach such a bold act would elicit. They would whisper his name to their children, tell tales of his deeds and fear the dark as they always should have, these people. These _ sheep. _

But he couldn't afford to linger, and there would be other chances. It was beyond time to refocus on his goal, his masterpiece. Enough tomfoolery. 

V smirked as he stepped to the still open door, pausing to pick up a discarded or forgotten cell phone. No doubt it would prove useful in his exploits. He couldn’t wait to get started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, researching lobotomies was a challenge! The technique Waras used is commonly referred to as a trans-orbital lobotomy, and was widely used in the 20th century but has fallen out of practice or been outright banned after the arrival of psychiatric medication. Dark times in medical history, my friends. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the return to death and murder and Waras' decision. More dark, twisted nastiness (and the long-awaited smut!) to come. 
> 
> As always, my deepest appreciation goes out to you all for reading my work, dropping a kudos or leaving me a comment. You guys are all superstars!
> 
> Next time - A quick check on some secondary characters, and a new design comes to life from V's mind.


	17. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V searches for a refuge while Reader comes to a realization she never expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! 
> 
> This one's a bit shorter than usual, sorry for that. It's been an insane few months but I'm finding my footing again. Quick warning for a surgical procedure, though it's not as graphic as the lobotomy. More to come soon, quite possibly with (finally) ACTUAL SMUT! 
> 
> Enjoy!

~~~~Nico~~~~

Nico took a deep breath and stepped forward, ducking under the yellow tape criss-crossing over the open doors of the subway. The acrid stench of death hung in the air, mixing with the signature piss and sweat of the underground. Not a pretty smell.

But the view horrified her, too. Cracked glass and smeared blood, a few bullet casings and two blue-clad bodies lying on the floor like dolls discarded by a child with a new toy. Her comrades deserved so much better.

Her heart clenched as she saw their frozen faces. It was Franklin and Taylor; she’d chatted with them by the water cooler the other day. Taylor told her that stupid joke about the zero and the eight, and Franklin… he was only just learning the ropes. His whole life ahead of him.

It made her want to  _ scream. _

She wasn’t unfamiliar with the unfairness of life. It twisted her up and spat her out more than once over the years. She’d fought tooth and claw to get where she was, struggle didn’t surprise her anymore. Misfortune had a cruel tendency to affect kind folks more than those who deserved it, but she always hoped to change that, even just a little. To leave the world better than when she entered it was all she wanted from life, despite how difficult the battle was. She could deal with the bad shit.

Still sucked to  _ see  _ the bad shit, though.

_ We gotta catch this fucker. _

Balled fists held tight at her sides, she forced her eyes away from the corpses of her brothers in arms to scan the scene for any evidence that might lead to tracking down the psychopath who ended their lives. Anything would do, any thread she could tug to unravel the mystery and get to slap cuffs on the bastard. She’d never wanted to catch a criminal so badly, so deeply it kept her awake at night.

_ I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re going down, V. _

The background check hadn’t given them much - he’d come from a middle class family, nothing remarkable about his childhood other than his fascination with art. By all accounts, while his young friends were off causing mischief, he’d be found visiting a museum or practicing his brushwork.

That is, until the shooting.

Regardless of his crimes, her heart went out to the poor bastard. Surviving a mass shooting by the sacrifice of a friend was enough to traumatize anyone. It was a damned shame (and an embarrassment to the healthcare system) that he didn’t get the help he needed afterward.

Still didn’t excuse killing folks, though.

At least they had one lead to follow - the doctor. After the dark-haired lunatic fled her apartment, it didn’t take long to get a search warrant. Techs were combing through the place, but they already had enough to put her away for at least a decade. Lobotomizing her own father, un- _ friggin _ -believable.

Tony was in shock, caught completely off guard by the doctor’s actions. His own hand-picked medical consultant, in league with the killer they hunted. A twist for the history books, he’d said. She’d never seen him so dumbfounded.

Despite being proven right about her suspicions, it turned Nico’s stomach to see the emptiness in Waras’s father’s eyes, the lack of humanity left behind. He was lucky to be alive, supposedly, but Nico had her doubts. Maybe death was a kinder fate than what the poor man endured.

_ He’ll never be the same. None of us will. _

“I got a blood trail!”

Nico’s lips curved into a predatory smile. Franklin must’ve wounded the fucker, his last act one that could lead to the arrest of his killer. Cold comfort to his loved ones, but still. It was  _ something. _

~~~~Kotomi~~~~

The familiar click of her heels on cement vanished amidst the cries of the crowd. Enraged faces lined the entrance to Mundus Psychiatric Hospital, signs and shouts overwhelmingly oppressive. At least they weren't throwing fruit today. She’d count her blessings.

The protests first started a few days after the local news announced that V was the lead suspect in the recent killings, and that he’d escaped the historically secure facility. Citizens fearing for their safety flocked to the streets, calling for the hospital to close and the patients to go elsewhere, though nobody seemed to know where. As long as it wasn’t here.

_ Nobody cares about an actual solution, just that the problem gets dumped on someone else’s lap. _

Then one of the orderlies told the tale of the fire, heightening the rage and terror. Malphas still hadn’t figured out who talked, but when he did, heads were going to roll. The director’s professional reputation was irrevocably tainted, along with the entire staff (though his was the only name being slandered in the streets).

It shocked her to see normal people so furious. People who barely registered the hospital’s existence before, now vilifying it at every opportunity. It didn’t matter that the place housed mostly harmless individuals, or that the staff genuinely tried to help them heal. All the goodwill vanished in the wake of V’s rampage.

“Bitch! Don’t you care that folks are dying?!”

Kotomi flinched as a protester caught her gaze and stepped forward from the picket line, foam-flecked lips spewing vitriol. She moved faster; maybe she could get inside before it got any worse.

“How many innocent people have to get slaughtered before you fuckers close this shithole?! Give ’em all the chair, I say!”

She crossed her arms and curled her shoulders inward, her heart hammering as she tried to pass the man by. She only wanted to go to work. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? She hadn’t done any harm.

_ That’s not quite true… _

In a way, it was all her fault. If she hadn’t frozen up during the fire, maybe things would have turned out differently. Why did she always freeze when it mattered most?

Her thoughts stopped as the man grabbed her shoulder, his grip tight enough to bruise. His rancid breath fanned over her face as he shouted at her, the words lost in the wake of her terror. Quaking legs barely kept her upright as her body flooded with adrenaline, her pupils dilating and sweat blooming on her palms and forehead. Maybe if she stayed quiet, he’d let her go? Could she just wait it out?

What choice did she have?

And then a familiar voice called her name, a pair of worried brown eyes replacing those of the protester as Rob led her inside. Someone else coming to her rescue yet again, because she lacked the strength to save herself.

“Are you alright, Dr. Ishida?” he asked.

She forced her fingers to relax their iron grip on her purse strap. “I- I think so.”

Rob sighed and glanced back at the crowd, their shouting audible through the glass door. “They’re getting bolder. I’ll talk to Aaron again, there’s got to be something we can do.”

But they both knew there was little point. Until V was caught, nothing would quench the fury of the citizens or lessen their drive to close the facility. Maybe her mother was right, she should’ve gone into a different field. It might be time to walk away.

~~~~V~~~~

The artist grimaced as he limped along, his palm pressed against his thigh to staunch the bleeding and ease the pain. Each step he took brought another pang of agony, and he couldn’t find an exit wound- the bullet remained. He’d have to get it out and treat the wound. First, however, he needed to find a safe place to recuperate.

He leaned against a shipping container, cautiously lifting his palm to check the blood flow. It was slowing, at least. Progress. His belt proved an effective tourniquet. 

A gust of icy wind reminded him of his precarious position. The warehouse district wasn’t prone to pedestrians, which meant fewer eyes to spot him, but it also meant he stood out like a sore thumb to anyone who wandered by. He couldn’t afford to stay here long.

_ Keep moving. Can’t stop now. _

He hobbled on, gritting his teeth against the pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead, itchy as it dripped through his hair. Aches ricocheted through his body, his muscles tired and close to quitting on him. He needed rest, a reprieve and a chance to plot his next move. Where could he go?

His friends stayed oddly silent. Did they abandon him? Unlikely, but he couldn’t discount the possibility. Either way, he had only himself to rely on.

_ Relying on others teaches one not to stand on their own. This is better. _

Before long, his mind wandered to the worst three minutes of his life. It was inevitable after the reminders at the subway, the familiar crack of thunder as guns fired. How much pain had Nero endured that day? They said he’d been hit six times.

“Six… Six twelve Oak street…” he muttered. His vision swam and the artist faltered, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. Today was the day; he’d been looking forward to it. He’d had his doubts at first, but with each session Nero’s skill improved. The edges of his latest tattoos featured crisp definition, the whorls perfectly curved to follow the natural shape of his biceps.

The artist didn't notice the flush in his face and the dazed film in his eyes as he turned and set off in a new direction, his steps unsteady but determined. A slight smile graced his lips. What design would Nero add to the canvas of his flesh this time? 

~~~~Reader~~~~

You sprinted to your ancient car, barely noticing the absence of the undercover cop car as you forced the engine to roar to life. No doubt they’d seen V leave and given chase, which meant you didn’t have the choice of going back to your apartment. The police would search it from top to bottom.

_ They’re going to find the sketches… _

It seemed so long ago that the artist first grasped that tiny nub of charcoal in your office, portraying your face in shades of grey. The roller coaster hadn’t stopped since that day, and it showed no signs of slowing.

But fuck it. No sense dwelling on what could’ve been, the life you could’ve had if you hadn’t requested his case. What was done was done. Time to get on with it.

You flicked on the radio as you pulled onto the main road. An aggressive guitar solo blared out and you winced as you turned the volume down, switching the channel a beat later. Social media probably had better info than the radio, but reading and driving didn’t mix.

_ “-unarmed but extremely dangerous. Police are advising locals to leave the area immediately. Last sighted exiting the subway station on 119th street, but current whereabouts unknown-” _

_ The subway. Smart. _

As if you’d expect anything less.

Within ten minutes, you reached 119th. Flashing lights and sirens greeted you, blue-clad officers milling around as one of them plastered crime scene tape over the railing. Mid-morning sunlight streamed down like a sick spotlight.

If V was here, he was beyond your reach.

_ Shit. _

You turned at the next cross street. The police undoubtedly had your license plate by now, you’d need to do something about that. No sense lingering in a place chock full of them. But where to go? Where would V go?

A soft ding stole your attention; a new message. You crossed your fingers as you pulled over to check your phone.

  


It wasn’t far, maybe a five-minute drive. Thank the heavens, at least now you knew he hadn’t gotten arrested. Yet.

Still… the message had you worried. It lacked his usual eloquence and wit, and didn’t say whether he was physically okay. Shots fired, the TV said. You pursed your lips and pulled back into traffic, mind whirling with uncountable ways V might be injured. By the time you parked a block away from the quaint, two-story house, you could barely breathe through the anxiety.

Grabbing your backpack, you didn’t even bother locking the car as you speed walked to the yellow front door. What would you find within? If they hurt the artist, would you be able to help? What if only his corpse awaited you?

You swallowed thickly and tried the doorknob. Unlocked; you took a deep breath and entered. Nothing immediately jumped out at you. Photos of a white-haired teenager lined a nearby wall, a hall table holding mail and a dish to leave one’s keys in beneath them. No blood stained the walls, no sounds of pain echoed from another room. It was quiet.

“V? Are you here?”

No answer. Not good. You set aside your backpack and tried again, making your way through the home. Each second he didn't respond only heightened your fear, stinging your tongue with metal. He had to be seriously hurt or incapacitated somehow, and neither option helped the situation.

“V? Come on, where are you?” Your voice shuddered.

“...curse my stars…”

You spun and raced toward the voice, tearing open a door you’d missed before to find the artist, curled up on a massive bed. Blood stained the sheets, concentrated near his thigh. Sweat coated his brow and his eyes stared at nothing, unseeing in the grip of his pain and madness.

“...love so high…”

“Don’t worry, V. I’ve got you,” you murmured as you cupped his clammy cheek. Dilated eyes, sweat and warm to the touch. Most likely an infection. You shoved aside your feelings; time to get to work. Right now, he needed your medical care more than anything else you offered.

Fabric rustled as you took a seat beside him and searched for the source of the blood. Through the fabric of his jeans it was impossible to tell, so you quickly tugged them off, taking care to reapply his improvised tourniquet once the cloth was out of the way. Heart pounding, you finally found a darker spot in the tensor fasciae, close to his hip. There was no exit wound.

_ Oh, V… you walked here with a bullet in your leg? _

At least it wasn’t too deep. Odd, but you’d take what you could get. A thin trickle of crimson oozed from the wound, but he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out yet. Assuming he hadn’t bled too much during his escape…

“I need to find supplies to treat you. I’ll be right back,” you said, stroking damp hair from his brow. His skin was on fire. He didn’t respond.

You pursed your lips and left him, searching the bathrooms and kitchen until you had what you needed. A moment more spent thoroughly washing your hands, and you returned. The artist hadn’t moved an inch.

_ Is he having an episode, too? Maybe that’s for the best, it’s possible he won’t notice when I take out the bullet. _

The best you had was a longer than average pair of metal tweezers. If they didn’t do the job, you’d have to widen the wound. Thankfully it wasn’t close to any major arteries, so you were confident you had the skills to remove it safely. A few inches to the left, and he would’ve already been dead for an hour.

“Okay, this might hurt,” you told him, pausing for a moment before dousing his thigh with a mixture of bottled water and table salt. After a moment you turned him so the excess fluid spilled out, leaving the wound clean and ready. You gave him one last look as your fingers wrapped around your tool. The head lamp you found in the kitchen flared to life with a touch and you straddled his injured leg, keeping it as still as possible.

“Now for the  _ really  _ fun part…”

The artist twitched feebly as you probed the hole. For once it seemed his episodes were a blessing; if he were even remotely coherent, he surely would have screamed.

Centimeter by centimeter, you searched for the signature resistance of metal surrounded by human tissue. More blood leaked from the wound, drenching your hands and slowing your progress. Muttered verses occasionally interrupted the squelch of your work, but you paid his words no mind. A distraction surgeon never helped.

At last you found it, an unrelenting hardness amongst the fibrous muscle. You tapped around the bullet, getting a feel for its dimensions before making your move. The tweezers barely opened wide enough to take hold, but they did the job and you felt the bullet disturb the surrounding tissue as you slowly drew it out with a satisfying plop.

You sighed and set aside your prize. Another round of improvised saline later, you carefully sutured the wound closed and bandaged the area. The artist still made no indication of awareness, just lying there as you put him back together.

The moment you set down the roll of bandages, you started trembling. V’s blood covered your hands, the sour stench of sweat and chemicals hanging in the air. As pointless as it was, you couldn’t help but wonder why life had to be this difficult. The last twenty-four hours alone had your nerves begging for a break. What a sick world, where you had to remove a bullet from the man you lo-

_ Holy shit. _

Air slipped from your gaping mouth as you fell back against the wall. A manic chuckle followed, then another. Was this what love was like? You’d never come close to it before, to this burning like fire in your soul. The thought of losing V mere hours ago had you in tears, falling apart like an infant without its mother for the first time. When you were with him, despite his murderous and unpredictable nature, you felt safe.

And the things you’d done for him - withholding medical information, lying to your boss and risking your medical license, everything you’d spent years working towards; not to mention what you did to your father.

He’d forced you to face yourself, someone you didn’t even know anymore. Changed your understanding of the world and of art, torn asunder your preconceptions and lit the way to new views. The eloquence of his speech, the grace in his movement, the curve of that smirk and the way his presence changed the atmosphere of any room…

_ I don’t know if this is love, but I don’t have another word that fits. Not even close. _ _ _

It was twisted ; it was soaked in blood and violence, but you felt more authentic than you ever had. You smiled. Decades ago, you accepted that you might not be capable of love.

How wonderful to be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a special shout out to InugamiMochi, who not only initially gave me the prmpt that spawned this madness, but who has been an invaluable help with medical questions. Here's to my favorite medical advisor :3
> 
> As always, you all have my greatest appreciation for your time. Thank you for leaving kudos, leaving a comment or even just dropping by. You guys are the best, most patient readers I could hope for <3

**Author's Note:**

> Another massive shout out to InugamiMochi for giving me this idea, you are a rockstar! I hope this lives up to your expectations :3
> 
> Fun fact - Waras means "sane" in Indonesian.
> 
> Round of applause for you lovely people reading this, leaving kudos and commenting. Without your support, I would never have attempted this. Again, feel free to comment with any suggestions for how to portray specific mental illnesses accurately, I love learning and this subject is important to me. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at https://keeroo92.tumblr.com/ My ask box is open and I'm more than happy to chat with you guys.
> 
> Next chapter - first official therapy session :D


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